Morning musings

Nothing like running errands early on a beautiful morning to make you count your blessings. I'm a lucky sonofabitch. My complaints usually reduce to rantings of the ego. I continually wonder why I haven't joined the male friends I've outlived by now. The gods have been kind. Of course, in my theory of a zero-sum universe, I also wonder what the hell they have up their sleeve.

I'm ecstatic that the summer has begun so productively. A new screenplay and another drafted in the first month of my summer! No small accomplishment. And making progress in my music studies. And unexpectedly re-entering the LaLaLand Zoo of a Marketplace, but with humor and mindless acceptance of the grunt work this entails. Life is good. The world continues to deteriorate, as near as I can tell, but on the personal front, I have no complaints that bear up under scrutiny.

A part of me, of course, feels like my brother in "Last Poems" (see entry below), but I suppose my powers of hallucination are greater than his. I think my archive will not be ignored down the tunnel of time. I have no rational reason to believe this -- but I do. A kind of faith. My literary reputation in the 80s was greater than now, at least more visibly so, but despite current invisibility I think some of my work will stand up over the years. I'll never know, of course -- though writing this brings to mind a scenario for a comedy about a writer who does find out. Everything brings to mind a scenario! It's all material. The curse of the writer.

Matters of literary reputation are matters of the ego. Case dismissed.