we leave for the beach in a week and, believe me, it ain’t a minute too soon, mister man. i’m dead beat and way seedier than the watermelons i’ll be scarfing on a sunlit terrace this time next week. it’s been a strange and bumpier-than-usual half-year, notable less for its lows than its absence of any real highs. we used to say ‘no hope without dope,’ nowadays it’s something more akin to ‘no life without strife’ or at least the day-to-day petty annoyances that pose as its punctuation.

yesterday, the b/f and i took a break from the aforementioned to zap to the local booksellers for some appropriate reading matter for the next four weeks. and, saying so myself, we didn’t do too shabby a job. amidst the usual summer fare, i found a fab 500-page history of an eccentric english-expatriate dynasty established for 200 years in sicily as well as the new chuck paluniak novel ‘lullaby’ and a newly released version of lewis’ ‘the monk’. adding them to the 20 or so other odd (and yeah, i mean odd) books i’ve been hoarding for the beach, it looks like i’ll have plenty of words to fill the empty hours when we’re not swimming, sunning or snoozing. if i get through half, i’ll feel fortunate.

well at least the last week saw a temporary break in the oppressive heat and we took full advantage, meaning we ate out with friends and went to a few parties thus providing me with a necessary, if short, respite from what has become an increasingly eremitic existence. i can testify that cabin-fever is no real antidote to hideous heat and hard-core humidity, even if it’s a whole lot less sweaty. fact remains i’m feeling that desperation that only comes after weeks of sitting in the same rooms, doing the same shit day after day. change of air, change of scene, change period, that’s the ticket and, despite the improbability of the latter, i’ll gladly and graciously take a bit of the former, thankee.

nothing to report of any significance on the work front. still stuck at the end of the piece, but feeling it’s just a matter of time til inspiration strikes and i can move on. in the meantime, i’m occupying myself writing my first poem in italian, something simple of course and with a familiar theme featuring my favorite usual suspect/subject, but nevertheless it’s pleasant enough work, providing a nice kind of proof that it’s music glorious music that makes the world of verse go-round.

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