Reminiscences

 August 22, 2026

DH called All Souls trying to find me. I called him back, and we had our first conversation in twenty years. I learned things about Broadway Arts and the green door that had been unclear before– how it was founded, for one, and why it was closed when it was closed. I thought maybe B and D had been insulted by the local arts community, but it was simply that building inspections got morestringent, and they had either to spend a lot of money on things like exits and fire escapes or get out of town. They got out of town. D went on quite a lot about what an inspiration I was– “a flame of creativity lighting the whole space.” He cried with emotion near the end, saying he missed me and my “goodness” so much. I never know how to react. When people express hatred of me I am astonished; when people express adoration of me, I am astonished, in each case tongue-tied. D was always a practical figure behind B’s flights of invention. What I remember most is his extreme physical beauty, which I suppose ought not to be mentioned now. I spend so much time dwelling on awful things I said and situations I must have made worse that to hear something good– coming in from outside-- is salvation. 

Reading an article on Hannah Arendt called to mind the week I spent with Alfred Kazin. He was at UNCA as a guest scholar, back when UNCA still saw itself as an institution of higher learning. What a horrible man. The presentations he gave here were about how awful other people were, and when he learned I had written on Pound, I was expected to justify the whole history of anti-Semitism. I drove him when we went off-campus, and he moaned, “David. . . David. . . you drive too fast!” Our beautiful female students prepared a lovely picnic to eat with him on the Parkway, which he refused because of the dirt of open places. I adored his books before I met him. I suppose part of his editors’ task was to take out the really nasty parts so anyone would read him at all. He did want a drink at the Brass Rail, as it was then. We went in and had a beer among the red-necks, Alfred Kazin and I. He seemed to be quite comfortable. That should be recorded somewhere. 

Michael Yeats came the same year, I think, invited by Poly Sci because of World Government rather than by Literature. Opposite of Kazin, kind and humane, and very, very large. Someone asked about his mother’s automatic writing in a snarky tone, and his response was, “Either my mother did automatic writing or she was lying, and my mother never, never lied.” That put an end to that. 

 August 21, 2026

Rain at dawn, the gentle clucking of turkeys in the yard under the patter of rain. Turkeys perch on the back porch, and when I round the corner I see large brown creatures that I cannot at first identify. It can be quite startling. 

MAY ALL CREATURES EVERYWHERE BE HAPPY AND FREE.

weeds

 

August 20, 2026

Day after day, whole weeks too hot for gardening. Rains come anyway, and the weeds in my garden are bold and tall. I don’t mind that. They don’t acknowledge the difference between themselves and the flowers, and for the moment neither do I. 

GZ is dead. 

Did, after all weed some. You notice sometimes how much effort produces so little result, and other times how little effort produces so much. 

River Arts

 August 18, 2026

Drove to the River Arts District, and made myself enter the building that used to be the Magnetic Theater. It looks great, actually, a far less gloomy use of the space. Even the girls who were working the desks didn’t know what had been there before. Continued to see L in his cubbyhole by the Pennycup. We talked about old times in the Phil Mechanic, and I learned what happened after I left, including the fact that my studio, with thousands of dollars worth of furnishings and supplies, had been “picked to the bone” by students and area artists. This is exactly the outcome I had prayed for but was too ill to effect. Two of L’s children have switched gender. The eldest, who hated dresses and girly things, is now happy as a boy, and the youngest has determined, apparently with some success, to avoid all gender limitations.  I don’t believe these options were open to us in our youth. 

Dr. Who

 August 16, 2026

Baroque dreams continue. One I remember from last night was very Wiccan– Dr Who (Tom Baker) had come to town do some sort of exorcism. He walked down the village street with two ghostly trees moving along with him, flanking him on either side. Figures, some of them quite grotesque, came out of doors and side streets to be reconciled with him, sometimes by an embrace, sometimes with an incantation. At first I seemed to be an onlooker, then I was part of his party, helping to gather the figures in. I found his sister hiding in the shadows, avoiding him. I kept saying, “utter the iron spell!” This seemed vital.  I think she was about to when I awoke. 

Waking, I thought “If I died, how long would I lie here before anyone found me?” Until the stink got to the street, it might be forever. The cleaning ladies would find the door locked and walk away.

 August 15, 2026

Revising An Age of Silver, almost stupid with joy.

Tony had messed with my aerator, making it sputter like an open vein. Inarticulate with rage. 

Flora gave me fairest flowers.

Gawdawful art work to accompany our disappointing Holiday “theme.” Arid to the point of unintended humor. B’s boyfriend again at work. Part of it is on me, as, I imagine, as my departure from the planning committee leaves no voice of correction. Unfortunately, when they fall, so do we, having countenanced it, in my case for the sake of tranquility. In my case it is almost always for the sake of tranquility. This is a fault I couldn’t recognize until it had been repeatedly manifest. Maybe I made good on all that tranquility. Maybe not. Maybe some of it.

 August 14, 2026

A blessing allowed me to return to writing this morning. After the flurry of composition and revision after the Elbe cruise, I was empty. I didn’t want to set anything else down. I was angry because all I have written has come to nothing. I think, all in all, my anger was clement, feeble compared to what God had earned of me. But today I rose early and wrote on the cruise play and then a poem that gushed out of me like old times. Glad to be back. Do not imagine, Father, that you have escaped my fury. You have glanced it aside for the moment, as you do. 

Alarms

 August 13, 2026

Slightly sick from lunch. Rye Knot burger didn’t settle well.

Dramatic night last night. I was writing when the “ping” of the house monitors when their battery gets low began to go off. The carbon monoxide monitor by the stairs is the usual suspect, so I began poking at that, recalling in times past there was a button I could push that shut it up without any change to the batteries, which I could never find. Didn’t avail– ping. . . ping. . . ping. .  so I went downstairs for the baseball bat I got to fend off bears, came back up and smashed it to pieces, then pulled it off its wires and hurled it into the trash bin. In a moment I realized it had not been the culprit. Brought the stepladder upstairs, found another monitor (smoke? Ozone? I don’t know) in the ceiling, mounted the ladder, pulled on the object, which was so shoddily installed it same off in my hand. That too went into the trash bin. THEN the security panel began beeping because it had lost contact with the monitors upstairs. Unplugged that until morning, when I phoned the Vivint people and told them to turn off the fucking alarms. They knew better than to challenge me. For an hour it was like a Laurel & Hardy movie. I’m preparing for old age, when I won’t be able to climb a ladder or swing a bat. 

Haircut

 August 12, 2026

Read this on a community bulletin board online: “Use to stay at 84 Duckett Road, people living at this address is thefts. They stole my truck battery, Jack handle, tools, generator just to name a few things. I may be homeless but keep your hands off of things that don't belong to you.” These are sad times.

Hair cut by a tattooed lesbian from Johnston City whose favorite pastime is playing music with her fiancee. I asked her, “So, did you wake up one morning and realize you wanted to be a barber?” and she said. “That almost exactly how it happened.” English, of course, was her worst subject in school. 

 August 11, 2026

JS’s birthday. We were friends in junior high, until he moved to Kent. I wonder if he remembers me at all. He was the only friend I had then who was as smart as I. I wouldn’t have put it that way, but I noticed it. He tried to plant radishes in a strip of land at the end of his driveway, the only place in his yard where there was sun. They grew. 

 August 10, 2026

Whatever I thought I was doing for Taliesin, his mother did not approve: 

Hello-

Taliesin shared the information with me that you gave him.  We have always been very open with him about Jason.  Please do not share any more information with him, it is extremely  inappropriate.  We have moved on from that time and have a very happy life.  I would prefer if you see him at work to keep it professional and avoid speaking to him.

Not the reception I expected, but the one that was. I wonder what she means by “inappropriate.”  I perceived the universe put together an unusual number of “coincidences” to make it happen. Still, no more until I hear from the universe again . . . 

Flu shot and tetanus booster today. One or the other of them made me mildly sick through the afternoon. 

Spectrum says I watched 102 hours of TV last month. That is shocking. 

Today marks a week without alcohol. It was neither very hard nor very rewarding. The downside is that I miss the emphasis drinking gave to the end of the day. I enjoyed tottering to bed half conscious. The upside sensible now is a hugely expanded tapestry of dreams, seemingly all night, one sewn into the hem of the other.

My Ohio massage therapist friend S wants to do an audiobook of Wyona.. I say yes and get in contact with Red Hen. This is what he writes: And if nothing else, thank you for taking the leap of faith in messaging me back! I have pretty much been shaking everywhere. I’ve gone the last 24 hours thinking even of the prospect of it. When I wrote my review of the book on StoryGraph several months ago, I predicted that it would be my number one book of the year. And that is absolutely holding true. Cheers to a masterpiece!

August 9, 2026

A Facebook message. So many hoaxes I can’t believe I’m responding to this one, but I am: 

Hello! I hope that you see this message! I did try to find more formal ways to contact you, but came up short. 

Earlier this year I read The Falls of the Wyona, and I just wanted to say that it was masterful writing. I know you don’t need someone like me to tell you that, but I just needed to say it.

I have never in my life, loved and hated something so much so simultaneously. I felt love for every character, and yet I was so angry and sad for them. In all my years as a reader, I have never finished a book and immediately had to walk out of the coffee shop so I could cry in my car. I picked this book up on a whim in a local bookstore, and I am so glad I did. I can confidently say that it is my favorite book of the year, and in my 5 or favorite books of all time. 

I wanted to write to you for another reason, as well. In the last month I decided to try my hand (or voice, rather) at audiobook narration. I auditioned for a few, and I am not working on my first project! 

This for me wondering if Wyona had an audiobook, and I see that it does not. I was wondering if you would ever entertain an audiobook being made, as I would love to be able to audition for such a role! I have recommended this book to so many people, and purchased at least 4 copies myself to give to friends. 

If the opportunity presented itself, I would love nothing more than to bring it to life in the form of an audiobook. If this is something you are interested in, shoot me a message! If not, I hope I was able to at least bring a smile to your face knowing that a group of people here in Ohio are loving your book!

Drove to HART in Waynesville to attend the ceremony wherein Steve was awarded the NCTC prize for Outstanding Career, which no one on this planet deserves more than he. As a surprise to almost everyone, Joe Sam Queen arose to represent the Governor in giving Steve the Order of the Long Leaf Pine, the highest honor given in North Carolina. Tears came to my eyes. It was right and well. 

Bonnie Hobbs is dead.

Vines

 August 8, 2026

Rob the handyman– who plays upright bass and in his 20's rehearsed with a combo somewhere on this street–came to fix the fascia under my roof. He claims to be mystified by the cause of the problem, but fixed it “for the moment.” Whenever I hear “for the moment” I take comfort, thinking, “How long can I live? It’ll be somebody else’s problem.” My attention drawn to the western wall, I saw how overgrown it had become with noxious vines (not noxious in the abstract, but noxious there) and went into an orgy of weeding. The damp ground provided satisfaction as whole giant root systems came up without much resistance.

My little aerator makes a glittering umbrella of drops over the waterlilies. In that I am happy. 

Can’t get my mind off the AVLGMV debacle. This is usually the sign that I’ve left unfinished business, but I’m not sure what. It’s only a debacle for me, I imagine; for the rest it’s relief from a weekly annoyance. Opposing Penis Head over Humanities I was absolutely on the side of right, fighting the Long Decline. Two years later the program was dead. Could I have saved it? Maybe not, but at least its end would have been lamentable, as it was not the way things turned out. With the chorus I think it’s more a change of generation. I’m sorry that the genius of this generation involves the apotheosis of one’s own trauma over all other matters, but there you are. I’d be fighting with people I like, who, I think, are genuinely astonished by my vehemence over matters that in their circles are never mentioned. So be it.  But something keeps me gnawing at it, like a puppy with the corner of a rug. Have I left something out? Have I been reasonable in my explanations? Is my duty to oppose or support the second-rate thing, rejoicing that it is not worse? If I’d finished my task, would it not vacate my thoughts? 

One observes of the Corporate Mind that it wants to install its plan regardless of the benefit to the organization. Better the business die than not have my mark on it. The Corporate mind confuses second and first causes, confuses the adverb for the verb. Efficiency becomes the goal, leaving behind consideration of the process that one was meant to be efficient at. Bottom line becomes the goal, forgetting that the whole ledger was meant to support some actual cause. That is what destroys universities and theaters. The goal is forgotten. The operation of administration wholly replaces the thing administered. 

Congress has just voted the stupidest man in America– and one corrupt to the limits stupidity allows–as our Attorney General. 

Evening: Rob the Handyman needs to come back tomorrow to finish. I said I’d pay him now in case I was gone tomorrow. He figured for a moment and then said, “That will be $40.” I said. “That’s ridiculous. Carrying that stupid ladder was worth $40.” I gave him $100. 

I prepared a memoir of my time with his father for Taliesin. I stopped by the Sav-Mor several times to give it to him, but he was not working. But I was filled with a need to go tonight so intense I might call it supernatural. I went, and there he was. He had to go on break, had to go home for dinner, so there was no time to talk. He was very flustered. He took the pages out and returned the brown paper envelope, saying “I’m returning this. These things are very expensive.”  I’ve never minded being a cog in someone else’s machine, a contributor to someone else’s story. Rejoice in it, in fact, when I recognize it’s happening. 

 

August 6, 2026

Thunderstorm at this moment.

Pulling of wild grapes with enormous underground tubers.

Phoned D for a quick catch-up. 

Rewrote a poem that I first wrote when J gave me the gift of a lapis lazuli ring. 

Praetorius from the computer. 

Lizard

 August 5, 2026

Turbulent day. 

Rich, intricate dreams, that ended with an extended wildlife motif. At the last I was inspecting a zoo of some kind, and was shown an exhibit where the occupant had not been seen for days. Immediately it came out of the sand, a large red lizard as friendly and demonstrative as a dog. Each time I passed, the lizard came out to greet me. This seemed symbolic at the time. 

The pond weighs inordinately on my mind. This is because it’s an ecosystem that I fostered and for which I feel responsibility. When it’s not getting aerated, I despair. Today I realized (after literally years of anxiety) that I didn’t have to replace the inaccessible motor, but could install one of those portable plug-in fountains that squirts water into the air. Raced to Jesse Israel and got one. Installation was complicated because the motor I mentioned before keeps throwing the breaker, and it looked like the new fountain didn’t work either, until I figured it all out. I do not do well with trial and error, though the universe imposes it on me when it wants. 

 

August 4, 2026

There’s a table with house plants in the living room. Every so often in the evening the houseplants quiver as though struck by a strong breeze. I’ll be sitting watching, and am sure there was in fact no strong breeze, and no way for there to be one. The fan might be on, but it’s been on for hours without any shuddering of the foliage. A little botanical ghost. A figurine of the Buddha sits amid the plants. Maybe he’s responsible. 

Taliesin

 August 2, 2026

Bought some items at Sav-Mor, and as I paid I noticed the check-out boy’s name tag: Taliesin. I knew in an instant who he was, and that I had given him that name. He’s J’s son. When D was pregnant with him, J and I strove to come up with a name that was both heroic and unusual. I’d been reading Charles Williams, so I drew Taliesin out of the air. He’s never met his father, and couldn’t believe he was as near as Johnson City. He quizzed me on J, all the while unsure he wanted to meet and know “a man like that.” Certainly J has not earned his son’s– any of his sons’– admiration. Taliesin is slight and skinny and delicate-looking, but recognizably his father’s. “What kind of man was my father?” he said. Before I censored myself, I said, “I loved him.” 

On the Internet– where I spend much too much of my time– are lists of symptoms and what ailment they indicate. When I read these, they usually imply I’m pretty damn healthy. But I read one: If You Grew up with Emotionally Undemonstrative Parents You Probably:. I tick every single box, exhibit every characteristic, have developed every single coping mechanism listed.

 August 1, 2026

Drove to Valvoline and got my car inspected by the ultra-hot redneck boys. 

Drove to Woodfin to look at the water from what used to be Riverside Park. Still raw and ruinous, as it may be for a century. Mostly people walking their dogs, none of the dogs apparently interested in meeting me. Ten geese flew by, honking, with the eleventh trailing behind. 

I try to avoid conversations with T, because they never end, but I was caught today. I helped him with the English words “dwarf” and “owl.” He works five or six jobs to keep his family afloat and navigates what a Mexican immigrant has to navigate, so he surprised me by fulminating against lazy poor people and people who want things handed to them. Maybe explains why there are immigrant Republicans– we worked hard, and by God they must too. I honor that without feeling it. T is jealous because my mulberries and his were planted at the same time, and mine are gigantic, while his are paltry. He believed that through the last several summers I underpaid him by $1500, so we got that settled. 

Calling of frogs, the music of peace.