It is saturday.

I ain’t going back to work for a week.



I ordered The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll by Alvaro Mutis after reading this post on biblioklept. (ps- i like this blog a lot.)

I am eager for it to arrive.


(Okay, update, it got here today. I swear to GOD i’ve never been so enamored, so undone, so upswept, by a work since I read Cormac McCarthy’s border trilogy, and this, this has me on my knees.


I don’t want ever to finish it and I am on page three.)


What is happening? I am listening to the grandbaby gurgling and singing to himself. The woman is wrapping ancient japanese papers over some beads she’s been making in the kitchen. The Wild Woman of Borneo is bustling back and forth, looking for something.

I don’t know what.

And I am here, typing away.


I need some breakfast.

something fried.


Last night I lay awake for a long while, worried that I haven’t been doing enough to let the woman on the verge know just how bad I have it for her.

It is no cure for me anywheres.

Nor would I take it, if there were.


Maybe something is happening. Maybe something is going to happen.

Maybe maybe.