oh no . .
Harold Bloom has passed away.
goodbye to all that. the rest is silence.
I’ve got nothing to read to remember in my shelves and boxes here, i believe.
death knell, just another. there files off another love. ii suppose he is murmuring of sublime things with Doctor Johnson and Alexander Pope. is Emily there ? would she pause there?
ii fought the information for an hour. now he is gone. goodbye, and thank you, friend, sir.
. .
its been a cruel interval, diary. what was last? some optimistic lie, I remember this through the fog. my mind is at half mast. i dont read or speak, and why should i ? i have got enough employment for generous recompense. I live well, strangely, though I never cease to work. I don’t stop for a day, hardly, its not much of a life, this silent, sorrow-filled, industrious life. the voices – bowie, Mitch & Neville, other remote men- these lead me to sleep in my cell. i could not want it otherwise. most of youth has come and gone. the men ii spoke with were beautiful and too good, – fatuous, beautiful, ridixculous, full of lies. you knew this already – one glance at my beautiful heart shaped face in those early days, the dumb dry clarity of my blue eyes, my ancient feminine decorum, my quiet smile, my suggestions, my honor, my fidelity, my invitation – my lack of reason, my pride, my quick tears, my expectations of betrayal – you knew who would come, and it could not be prevented. so i found him. the good man. not long ago he came and went. what can I say? the truth is bitter and simple.
ii suppose if i wish to speak i will go someplace.. perhaps to the city over the horizon, an hours trip. not far. there’s nothing to speak of here. we are in the country. ii am generally alone. the sleepy bees are good company. but hurry, I remind them. tonight you die. work, work, my little friend.
my clients, my coworkers, they file adorably, inexplicably, thru my days: oh, those mysteries I have no wish to unwork their dumb mechanisms. let them pass. I am dumb and mystery enough for all my awe. i live luxuriously in this tiny closet with its stone interior walls and its busted old door and window. i’ve got two doors of my own, in fact – what riches. richer than the rest. richer than i’ve been before. two doors and a small cell window. yes, there is an herb garden outside. and many bees & bird life all the warm months.
and that is where lucy and omar meet me, the two cats. more on lucy and omar soon.
my son has been in college away, three years now. life commences! I send him groceries thru amazon fresh. I cant help myself. just sunday someone stole a carton of 6 organic eggs off his front porch where the delivery person left them.
“no eggs” he had texted me. rude son. I replied “strange. i thought I had.”
i went to California for work & play a year or so ago. that is the best thing I have d0ne in recent year. oh that strange place on the other coast – that air and shore.