Jack wrote this in September, 2006:
Looks as though there’s a bull-goose storm between here and the Jemez Mountains, maybe moving this way. Cats all came inside without protest before dark because of another, milder one just at dusk.
Finished the re-read of Confessions a few days ago, but as I’ve spent those days digesting the last half the book, seems clear I’m going to have to spend another read-worth before I can put it back on the shelf. It’s sitting over by the bed grinning at me now, wondering how long I’ll hold out.
A month, I’m thinking. But meanwhile, I keep picking up the Decameron, My Name is Aram, The Sibyl, and a Nero Wolfe novel, The Golden Spider, turn a few pages, put it down. I think it’s some sort of rebound thing, what with my brain having submerged itself too long in the Rousseau mixmaster.
Anyway, my gut tells me I want to re-read the Decameron next, but my head refuses for the moment.
Just was over reading justxploring’s blog about breakfast cereals, human beans, and parties. Made me ask myself when it was I quit eating breakfast cereal. Hasn’t been too terribly long ago, but it’s one of those things just seemed to be there one day, gone the next.
Nowadays I just eat corn tortillas for breakfast. Yeah, it’s rad lib. Pinko stuff.
Sure sign I’m part of the underground railroad smuggling brown-skinned, non-English speaking conquistadores once-removed, previous owners of this land I live on, back into it, now that it’s become sacred.
Used to be nothing but Mexicans living here. Now there’s good Amurcans.