November 23rd, 2009


Cockroaches and Peanut Butter

Yesterday, I wrote only 654 words, but appear to have unexpectedly found THE END of "Sanderlings." It's very odd when that happens. But then, it's a very odd story. It's just under 5,000 words long. I'd thought it would be for Sirenia Digest #48, but now I'm thinking I may send it along the Bill Schafer at subpress for the chapbook that will accompany the numbered state of The Ammonite Violin & Others. Which means I'll need write something else for SD #48, over the next week.

This whole Thanksgiving thing came up yesterday. That is, the fact that I do not observe this whole Thanksgiving thing. And various people (including my mother) were like, oh come on, you have a lot of things to be thankful for. To which I can only reply that, in this instance, thankfulness implies that there is someone or something out there to thank. I would say that yes, sure, I am appreciative of many things in my life— Spooky, my mom, Spooky's mom and dad, Rhode Island, being able to mostly pay my bills, the sea, and so forth. But being appreciative does not entail being thankful, in the sense that is generally meant when people speak of Thanksgiving. I am not thankful, not in the Thanksgiving sense, which implies gratitude towards some "higher power," even when you've completely stripped the holiday of its Christian roots and made it just "Turkey Day." I can appreciate turkey any day. I don't need a special day to eat turkey, or cranberries, or that disgusting stuff made of sweet potatoes with melted marshmallows on top. And there's no one for me to "give thanks," other than myself, and Spooky, and my readers, and maybe half a dozen other people. So, I'm not trying to be a wet blanket. I just don't do Thanksgiving. I try to make sure the people in my life to whom I am grateful for this or that know that I am grateful for their kindness and concern. I don't need to set aside a special day for it. To some, it may seem like I'm worrying over semantics and only mincing words. But that's what I do. All day, almost every day. I mince words, in an effort to get to what I genuinely mean. Usually, I choose my words with obsessive care.

I'm not appreciative of the doctor's appointment that's going to eat up all of tomorrow, and expose me to fuck knows what germs.

And now, here's the last set of photos from our trip to Green Hill last Wednesday:

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