Sent to Slides

Tonight, the first of the three cluster that I intend to force fruition, of something.  My characters need enrichment.  The Room shift, 90 minutes, actually 89, away.  Lazily poetic, with Ms. Plath to my right.  She smiles, but pains beneath waves.  Last night, had a bit of wine, but nothing that sent me to stars.  The wine-food time, still in mind.  Amazing chef.  How do they do that, the culinary thaumaturges?

My book, possibly, hopefully addressed in tonight’s session.  Actually, yes.  Decreed.  It will take the posture of a blend: beautifully erratic, spellbinding, wrapping readers in magnetizing confusion.

Outside: smoke, saturated Earth,

delightful waves of air.  For

whom?  Maybe me.  Maybe

us.  She, not here.  This blend

of notes intends to

with me stay, be recorded

for you, us.  She, not

with me.  But maybe

in these notes.  Sharp

fascinations of a flavor

flurry.  Complex and

continuous.

Competing with memory,

to redeliver the heavenly.

(Sunday, 11/21/2010)