Chimera Song Mosaic
I am only posting because I think I must at this point or else risk not doing it again ever at all. Needless to say, the semester has started, and that has left me somewhat bankrupt (but with the delicious excuse not to write). I had some momentum at some point. I tried, but I gave up trying to figure out how to put an adjustable font-size button on my site. Then after weeks of not even looking at any kind of blog, I finally started reading them again, and have been enjoying myself, just taking things in and not posting. That's what I am doing right now, taking things in. Reading literary journals straight through (a luxury I can never afford during the school year). I finished Anna Karenina, read the St. Petersburg Times I brought back with me, cover to cover, old subscriptions, lots of stunning chapbooks (so great for one sitting!), and two things I cannot get out of my head: Anne Carson's Plainwater (which I refuse to finish because I want to extend the pleasure) and A. S. Byatt's Little Black Book of Stories (which I didn't particularly enjoy while I was reading it, but now cannot forget--particularly the one where the lady turns to stone--such stone nodules, gorgeous organisms!). With all these rich dishes--research and excavation--you would think I would have more to show for it, or at least some gumption, art, or authority. But no. I have been probing, and there is nothing to detect.
