Aftermath

Yesterday was my birthday. It was also the 9th anniversary of William Burroughs' departure to Interzone. I really like Burroughs and as far as I'm concerned August 2nd is our day. I even wore my Burroughs' tshirt with the quote, "We intend to destroy all dogmatic verbal systems". My kinda guy.

The day started out on a low enough key with a trip to physical therapy. Still working on loosening up that knee. After that, it was a non stop party. The birds got the last of the scrumptious veggie Marvel Meal and a special mix of various seeds and Mr. Lee and I poisoned ourselves with mammoth helpings of lemon-strawberry cake and too much ice cream. My friend Susan even dropped by with a couple of cool gifts, which was totally unexpected. I offered her cake but she wisely ate watermelon. In the evening we went to a second birthday party. Big day.

Today, I'm a bit depressed. Don't bother telling me it's the sugar. Susan already kindly pointed that out. Plus I'm beginning to hate the pathetic "Dear Diary" quality of this blog. I don't know why I do one. It's embarrassing. All well. I'm a chronic sufferer of symbol overload. Blogging is a overflow valve. I've been in the house too long, almost constantly since the Summer Solstice. It's evening. The quail have just arrived in their little hats. In case you forgot, they spend the day under Dwayne's sprawling Indian Willow Tree, or whatever the fuck it's called. They stroll over here to the Bird Park for an evening snack. The finches spend all day on the feeders spewing seed everywhere and the quail drop by to see what's left when the temperature cools.

In case you're wondering, the image at the top is of the front of the birthday card Mr. Lee made for me this year. I love his cards. They are always unique and delightfully disturbing. Circuses are my thing anyway and this year's card has circus images on front and back and under his signature a tasteful gif of twisted barbed wire. The image on the back is very faded and grainy, in keeping with it being of a small, Depression era traveling circus. I'm not posting a photo of the backside. I have to keep something for myself. He always nails it. I'm sure I spent many of past lives in various traveling circuses and wandering theatre troupes. The backside also has a wonderful quote from Anne Sexton. I like her a more than Sylvia Plath these days although Mr. Lee was quick to point out that poor Sylvia was over-exposed. What can you expect when you stick your head in the oven and gas yourself, what with the children and a big mouth husband. She is a fine poet though. They both are.

An dear friend of mine, Michael O'Rourke (himself a fine poet and playwright) wrote me yesterday and had some nice things to say about Driftwork... "Driftwork is like pure cold well water in the desert. My gratitude to all who contributed--it's wonderful to know that the universal loners, pit stop desperadoes and holy whores, pacifists with fists full of poems and diehard prose, can face down the high noon tactics of oil fume ghosts gurgling in the blood of the indigenous soul." Michael was probably thinking of me when he wrote "holy whore"; and probably "pit stop desperado". Both apply. Shit, it all applies. That's the problem with old friends. They know too much.

So that's it for now. No politics today.

"For God was as large as a sunlamp and laughed his heat at us and therefore we did not cringe at the death hole." - Anne Sexton

The last written words of William Burroughs