One has just been sent out as a biblical dove, has found nothing green, and slips back
into the darkness of the ark -- Kafka

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Something from Sylvia

This passage made me smile. Mixing domestic with literary concerns. Had one good writer thinking about (and reading) a great writer.

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I was getting worried about becoming too happily stodgily practical: instead of studying Locke, for instance, or writing - - - I go make an apple pie, or study the Joy of Cooking, reading it like a rare novel. Whoa, I said to myself. You will escape into domesticity & stifle yourself by falling headfirst into a bowl of cookie batter. And just now I pick up the blessed diary of Virginia Woolf which I bought with a battery of her novels Saturday with Ted. And she works off her depression over rejections from Harper's (no less - - - and I hardly believe that the Big Ones get rejected, too!) by cleaning out the kitchen. And cooks haddock & sausage. Bless her. I feel my life linked to her, somehow. I love her - - - from reading Mrs. Dalloway for Mr. Crockett - - - and I can still hear Elizabeth Drew's voice sending a shiver down my back in the huge Smith class-room, reading from To The Lighthouse. But her suicide, I felt I was reduplicating in that black summer of 1953. Only I couldn't drown. I suppose I'll always be over-vulnerable, slightly paranoid. But I'm also so damn healthy & resilient. And apple-pie happy. Only I've got to write. I feel sick, this week, of having written nothing lately. The Novel got to be such a big idea, I got panicked.

Bolsa Chica: Sunrise (1.25.15)

Sunrise: definitely the time to go. Though I'm sure sunset and other times of the day have their attractions too.

Did Bucks and Sylvia in Sunset Beach. Did the same walk I did last Sunday (inspiration, preparation for the week ahead), though there were enough differences (sights, sounds, thoughts) to make it new.

The little walk also brought me a "new line" (one that's been bothering for some while). Think I got the fix.

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Monday, January 19, 2015

Who Is This Masked Man?

Stumbled on this pic in looking for remnants of Kavka. Looks like it should be someone BIG (looks a touch like Lenin but I don't think so), but all I can find (remember) via the Net is that it's on the side of the Youth Hostel in Bern (yes, I was there: reading Demian if memory serves). I guess I just took it for an I-was-there and I forgot. The comblike treeshadow is a nice touch. If you know the name of the face and/or artist, please call 1-999-999-9999. Otherwise, I'll let you know if I come up with anymore info.

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Kavka: The Real Thing

Corvus monedula vs. Corvus brachyrhychos (I guess). Though I only have mind-pics (the breadcrumbs below are just pics of pics) to prove it. I'd taken a train from Prague to Poprad-Tatry. At the train station (the narrow-gauge took me up) I ate breakfast soup with the "day troopers" but passed on the breakfast beer. I stayed at a pretty much deserted hotel (in the last days of the peacefully dissolved Czechoslovakia). I took a good hike in the mountain forest. From a pine bough (the snow fell when he spoke), I swear I heard: Evermore.

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Kavka-in-Amerika