Saturday, February 1, 2020

The first day of the second month


It’s been more writing than reading or even listening to music the past week or so, and the cause is due to a specific event.

It’s not officially launched, but it is live, the reinvented Write Up The Road website. A more formal launch, and more detailed narrative of the project will follow, but for now you are welcome to watch work in progress.

Beginning late last year I’d experienced a surge of writing but didn’t know where to direct it, and then voila! out of the blue my steam punk gothic content colleague and her interplanetary sombrero wearing site runner IT husband graciously invited me to join their collective, which has caused me to amp up, ramp up, and start churning out the verbiage.
Today, a poem about Elena Delle Donne, who currently plays for the Washington Mystics of the WNBA, appears on my page

It is a pastiche of Frank O’Hara’s poem Poem [Lana Turner has collapsed] updating the subject idol.  


It was last year or the year before that I read The Aeneid by Virgil for the first time. I’m into my second reading now, appreciating things I missed the first time through. Robert Fitzgerald’s is the only translation I’ve read. “frightening the air with javelins” por ejemplo. Or that great scene in part three, Wandering, when Aeneas and crew head into the open sea per the divine prophecy and rounds the south eastern tip of Italy and makes his way towards Sicily. As gods are my witness, I was on that ship in utter amazement.

Notes and Asides

I’ve blogged elsewhere about writing away from home, and how “breakfast places” are some of my favorite satellite offices. Breakfast is as much a ritual as a meal for me, going back—well, going back a long time, and this morning was no exception. A favorite place of mine is J.R.’s Family Restaurant in Hemet. Today, true to the spirit of the establishment, there was a nice family in a booth near where I was sitting. Mom and young daughter on one side of the table, dad and older daughter on the other. The little one is getting Mickey Mouse pancakes. Dad was forceful and direct in his conversation. The older girl, preteen I’d guess, had that slow sweet syrupy voice that hasn’t matured yet, still dreamy and softly mewling. It was fun eavesdropping!

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