THE SUN IS DEFINITIVELY OUT, BUT THE WIND....

The sun is blazing today, but a fierce wind blows, making a walk problematical. Got my two free copies of Kestrel in the mail. A very professional journal. I'm trying to read some of the poetry and stories in it other than my own. I have a difficult time reading contemporary work. I do. Seems a writer must be dead and well established in the cannon of literature before I give it the time of day. When I take the time, I find interesting stuff all the time, but time is really short now for me. I'm reading Hemingway and a contemporary Japanese author Haruki Murakami who's been translated into scads of languages. Now I learn his novel Norwegian Wood is not a representative work. Many of his younger readers were disappointed by it. A love story, plain and simple. I understand some of his other novels employ fantastical scenes and imagery.

SKIPPING A BEAT IN THE BUCKET LIST SONG

Art by Clip, captions by George

Christmas is about to blow your budgets into town on the hooves of Credit Card and Debit. Following that, New Years Evening enters and closes the year under a lampshade chapeau in the carriages of drunken drivers. Probably all the book agents whose ears I seek will be drunk on those ears and worrying about next years shrinking list of publishing houses, so I've decided to stop sending query letters until a new year enters in a stinky diaper. It's been a long time since I've had to dangle a soiled diaper between my fingers while I pee. However, I'll continue to work away at the untitled film script. Even plan to work some on Christmas Eve day tomorrow. 

Just finished reading Japanese author Haruki Murakami's novel, After Dark. That novel, following Craig Lesley's Winterkill, made quite a collision of styles in my literary senses. Now embarking on a 2nd read of Steven Hawking's A Brief History of Time.

If I have any resolutions for the New Year, I'll try to be kinder to troubled people, trying to recall how I felt during those years when suicide was always in my thoughts, and I wished that people would be kinder to me.  It's a rough world for tender consciences.