Friday, June 22, 2007

Thursday, June 21, 2007

The Canons of June

from Hunter S. Thompson writing a review of a really fast motorcycle for some magazine:

"Some people will tell you that slow is good – and it may be, on some
days – but I am here to tell you that fast is better. I’ve always
believed this, in spite of the trouble it’s caused me. Being shot out of
a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That
is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba…."

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

I may be out for a bit. Too much swirling around, and not much of it good.

Everything will be okay, though.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Arkansas will take weeks to settle in. I saw a great section of our country, and I need to sieve it through, turn it over, dwell a bit on all those dry spaces, those well worked fields, the hard folks with stories and a small piece of land. When a person is standing in the City, it is so easy to mis-remember how days here pass with slow-steady purpose and all well in good tune and manner.

I am back at my wood desk with a lot of new ideas. I hope I can keep a few in place - make them stay. The windows are open tonight. A great rain outside. There is a bit of cool here with the weather - a chance to air things out.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Sis Draper

I am diligent at work this week. I hope everyone is proud. And I am off to Memphis at daybreak Friday - heading to a wedding. Good folks. Fine town. Deep river. Actually, it is over in farm country, Arkansas. Fields of wheat, chewing tobacco, and home-grown country girls.

As Shawn Camp says about his grandmama the fiddle player:

She stepped right up and sawed one off
And Uncle Cleve he dropped his jaw,
Said "she's the best I ever saw
She must be from Arkansaw"

Sunday, June 3, 2007

If you ever see me dancing, things have taken a terrible turn for the worse. And, well, that was my exact state this past Friday night. I went out on a party, as Johnny Cash used to say, and came home so late it was early. This is not my normal habit, and it has taken all weekend to decompress. Like a deep sea diver working out the nitrogen. I must say, though, it was a great way to rustle up a too-still pond, tilt the canoe a bit. I met up with several old friends and went from one end of town the the other, and at one point I was up on some sort of stage waving my arms about like a wounded bird, coaxing the local roller derby girls to knock back just one more tequila, bump up against each other, just for fun.

Oh the life of the modern cynic. And woe the very next day.