30 OCT 05
I've received a record amount of good mail in recent weeks, including some beautiful books I haven't had the chance to read. I blame Jess Mynes' In(ex)teriors Ex(in)teriors (Anchorite Press 2005). I read the first half of it a few times before starting the second, can't say why. Kept wanting to start over, hear it all again before moving on. I read the second half, then resumed from front to back. It's that kind of book. Without quoting pages, I don't feel I can do justice to the rhythm he gets going--but to give you an idea:
"I miss the people the most." Can't it any more? Forgotten of me. Why can't I? Ergo ego. Ecconomics really. Squeezed out. Continue what I am repeating toward a purpose. Cold facts keep me in place. Walk from the beach for fries. No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service. Beach closed local news interview, grandfather at front awning leaning on cane, "It's hurt business a little, yeah." Too many onion rings per order reprimand. Seasonal removing of outdoor entrance. I know, no longer.
There is one other beauty I've been spending time with--
"burning like a ship, crashing like a pulpit"
"The heat in a wave of wind."
"In an underwater castle, I've spent the whole day as a ghost."
Sister by Gabriella Torres, the debut volume from Lame House Press. Tragic, eddy, spiral, billow, surge, ripple, twist, reap the wild whirwind.
"When he put the pistol in my hand I didn't"
. . . . .
