too much analysis, not enough action.

Ingratiation. Rapscallions.

I started reading The Ecstasy of Communication or L'Autre par lui-meme by Jean Baudrillard. And now, out the window, the sky looks blue and white. The wind just barely moves the trees. I have been writing mostly about poetics this summer. A poem here and there as well. I employed Modern Times as an example in my writing today. The scene in the factory, when Chaplin accidentally leads a revolt. The humor of misinformation.

Spent the day on Lake Moomaw. The sky was blue. There were white clouds as well. There were boats and people too.

Yesterday I drove up to Winchester to visit my brother who had recently returned from California. He brought me back a gift. Two books that he had purchased at City Lights: Vienna Blood & other poems and The Separate Rose. There were two fawns in his backyard as well, and some tomato plants. We sat in the shade all afternoon talking. On the drive home I thought of Simone de Beauvoir’s lovers and auto racing, gambling, connectivity, and vegetable gardens. Yes, and I thought about apple orchards and about the mountains of Colorado.