gurdonark canon knows that none of my creative writing, including in particular my bad poetry, is blemished by excessive attentive thought. Writer's block, after all, is for people who are blocking out something to say. When one has nothing to say, one can say it ad infinitum, flowing like a river. Now I've said my sweet nothing, addressed the envelope, and e mailed off the requisite "sorry I'm late" apology, so I feel once again like a moral force in the universe.I discovered that the google folks' froogle.com shopping site is in a much more advanced beta version. What a marvel! One can find literally anything on line. As with google, the problem is that something one can find 20,000 sites with this anything, but it then uses a yahoo-like categorization finder to limit the hits. This is very nicely done, although a bit late to help this holiday season.
Yesterday I listened to the Neil Young Decade album. I think that "Cortez the Killer" is the best Neil Young song, although many other songs compete for this title. I always like the story about how the After the Goldrush album made him too broadly popular, so he determined to aim for niche fame forever after. I'd love to be a celebrity in out of the way circles only. That's the "right kind of fame". My perception is that in the arts many folks became celebrities merely by assuring everyone else that they were doing something interesting. In some cases, time proved them right, but while they lived, nobody got it at all.
It cannot be about getting noticed, this life--it must be about something else. I also like "needle and the damage done" a lot.
I have five little forty sheet mini-notebooks, just a couple of inches high and an inch or two broad. Each has forty tiny pages. They are the bonsai trees of my mind.
They are so dollar-store cute that they deserve an informal on line poll--
If you had a miniature notebook, 40 pages in length, what would you put on the pages?