This one's not so bad, either, though. No 'BAD POET, BAD POET' scrawled in blood and fuchsia lipstick, the stuff bad dreams are made of. Good comments, gentle comments, excited happy comments.
Santo still hasn't fallen off the wall. He may stick around yet. Trying to write new poems as well as revise the old ones. I'm not pushing it though. Just happy to get a few lines down about whatever the hell. Sort of the "twenty lines a day" approach. A few lines directed at nothing, and then some lines added to a project currently going by "House of Noir" which is just an Elmore Leonard novel in poetry form. I will probably be writing about Florida for the rest of my life, even though I only lived there for a year and a half. The whole state's just so...sordid.
Rereading The Master and Margarita for the 100th time. When I was a kid, I had books fall apart on me from too many readings. It is nice to still have a few around that this happens with.
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