Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

They mage there's always sayings in the air

Last night I went to the hypnos.com on-line store and ordered the new Jeff Pearce album, Bleed. I have read nothing but rave reviews about it so far--it's apparent more song-based than his usual ambient stuff, and tries to create pieces to match angst-filled teen year journals. I also ordered a Robert Carty album on the anomalous label, as well as an interesting thing by Lilith titled, appropriately enough "Imagined Compositions for Water". I want to buy music which surrounds me in somnolent walls of sound--comforting, disturbing, familial, alien.

I'm making arrangements to auction off my autographed first edition Bobby Fischer's Games of Chess at an Irish chess auction website in December. I found this autographed first edition in a used book store here fifteen years ago for 4 dollars. Because I am quite a chess fan, I once thought that I would hold this and pass it down to my nephews. Then I thought it might be good to donate it to the Cleveland Public Library, particularly as I still revel in the nice note its director sent me when an ebay purchaser donated my chess poetry book to that library's famous chess collection. But Mr. Fischer's various unfortunate sayings included anti-US rhetoric in a 9/11 context, and that did it. I now want to sell the book, and convert it into cash. Then I'll use the cash for self-publishing ventures. It won't bring much--maybe a hundred or a hundred and fifty dollars. But I'm selling it in part as a goad to "urge" myself to write my November novel.
I've promised myself that no matter how bad it is, I will self-publish that work if it reaches 50,000 words. I've got spurs, that jingle, jangle, publish, jingle. I want to be the bionic bad novelist! I explained the plot of my as-yet-unstarted novel to my wife over dinner, and she asked me if it was going to be like "My Dinner with Andre". I don't know if my wife remembers that an old flame of mine in my single days destroyed our relationship in the aftermath of "My Dinner with Andre". I still love that movie. So many of my life's profound moments happen over dinner when the restaurant closes around me.

I am pleased to see dabroots gave me the "heads up" on the air travel death of Senator Paul Wellstone, some of his family, and some in his campaign. My politics are not exactly his, but he was one of the purenesses that make life still worth living. I thought calaf wrote a nice brief note on his passing.

I am so much more productive the last week or two, but also so busy. I want to wave my wand, and make things improve. But that reminds me, then, that Richard Harris also died. It's a huge centrifuge, this life, it spins and spins.....

I finally got my poetry exchange poem out to subatomiczoo, and received and replied to ezerd's mail art exchange of crayoned flowers.
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