July 14th, William S. Burroughs

Finished Nova Express by Burroughs. I like the ideas, the subliminal stuff, etc. Didn't enjoy the cut-up sketches -- made my head hurt.

[undated -- notes after having read Everson interview]

[When I first read this post I was so embarrassed, but hey, it's anthropology I'll just leave it in. I was taking on the voice of folks I'd been reading, taking them out for trial-runs. The voice here is... embarrassing. But Everson himself rocks.]

I've just finished reading "The Presence of the Poet," a lecture given by William Everson -- an "informal discourse" before the University of Oklahoma philosophy club, October 26, 1962. Printed in the collection Earth Poetry, Oyez press, edited by Lee Bartlett.

This interview will have a lasting effect on my way of being. I am an artist, that I find over and over again. An artist afraid, to be sure, but an artist nonetheless. That what I do would be prophetic makes sense to me. That the society is both intrigued and assailed by it has proven itself to me. A salve to my wounds.

I would go over the revelations brought to me by this interview, but the stuff is newly interred to my gut, and would come up acrid with bile. I'll give it time to digest. A salve it was and is. It's importance resonates distantly in my own future like a well-cast bell. I can hear it from here. It will guide me, consciously or unconsciously; it already has.

[no title in journal -- Annie Dillard entry]

I'm sitting up, I believe it's the next night after the last entry. I just finished Holy the Firm, by Annie Dillard.

These writers are crawling into my head and tugging it around like a child does a loved but dirty stuffed toy. Dragging it behind them by one arm as they walk around, investigating.

And I can't stop reading.

I trust them; with my life, my mind. I don't really know why. Maybe because I've tasted the tiniest bead of a writer's life and feel the necessary power that it would take to get far enough down that path to become good. Power like that could only come from Love -- or Truth (which isn't always Love).

The next night [19th PM]

[Note: this has since become one of my favorite books, I've read it 3 times now]

Just finished Blood Meridianby Cormac McCarthy. Possibly the most violent book I've ever read. I followed the ostensible storyline, but the end left me wondering. I'm not closed. I allowed this book to open gaping wounds and vents in my psyche, then it lost me.

I may read it over again, but I don't know that I would learn anything. I feel I may have been too fast in reading it. I finished it in one day; a long day, albeit; but one day. I skipped over his ramblings when I wasn't in the mood, writing them off as theatric. Maybe that was it.

Or maybe it wasn't meant to be understood directly. I want to consult with someone on this.

I'll let synchronicity take me to my next learning.

[Another note: I read it again over the next two days, and it sat much better with me on that reading. I had been pushing it too hard.]

18th, just after sundown

Just finished Ceremony, by Leslie Marmon Silko. A powerful, powerful book. A complete circle, well crafted and unexpectable. There was beauty in there, but it's steel. Beautiful practicality. It works extremely well.