Notes from a short getaway

WED. At Sailor Jack's Motel in Lincoln City, our usual getaway at the coast. We like it because it's dog friendly, on the beach, reasonably priced.

Raining, raining. No problem. Read, a nap.

THUR. Melville had the ocean right. Proximity to it changes your perspective, reminds you of the scale of things and how small you are. Yet, of course, from another point of view, just as legitimate, you are everything in the sense that your very awareness of the ocean or anything else is a consequence of consciousness. Does the tree fall in the forest without you there? Yes and no, depending what you mean by the question.

Watch, stumbled upon, a charming film last night, "Inventing the Abbotts," made me want to read the novel. Nicely crafted coming of age story.

The main "work" I want to accomplish here is checking my syllabus so I can get it printed upon return. Also brought script pages and novel pages to work on if I get that ambitious, plus a couple of books.

I could live in motels. Moreso motels than hotels, but I could live in both. Let the maid clean up, eat all my meals out. I read Nabakov lived in a hotel. I can see the advantages. If money were no object, and it actually wouldn't take that much, I could live in a van and motels, just aimlessly wandering around and using Internet cafes and owning nothing that wouldn't fit in the van. H. needs more than I do in this regard so the life of a vagabond is unlikely -- unless I outlive her, which could only happen by accident or one of those jabs by the gods. She doesn't everything "right," i.e. healthy, and I do the opposite much of the time.

I'm glad I'm working on the new novel. It's serious, in a way screenplays aren't (because I'm trying to sell them, which immediately makes it writing outside-in, not inside-out), which means writing something my agent feels comfortable with, a collaboration; but the novel is pure inside-out, and I need this kind of project in my life, even if it has no future whatever except a place on the shelf of my archive. I keep the faith. One day someone will find it and react more or less the way the guy reacted when he found my essay in the basement of a library and was inspired to write a book on the same theme. That's the best kind of feedback. "The proper response to poetry is not criticism but poetry." (Brown)

I'm also glad I'm tackling the video tone poem. My first real test as a composer/arranger, something that will be only a few minutes long. See how far I'm come in my studies and how far I still have to go. A video chamber opera being the far away goal out there. Will I live long enough to get this done? We shall see what we shall see. Hope so.

I don't think I've written better characters than are in the Army, Cold War novel. All based on real people. But they can't carry the book alone. I need to find the right story for them all to hang on, and man it's been a bitch finding it. I have a new idea I'll try in the splay ... I want to get it done this fall.

I am eager to return to the classroom. Gives me a structure, a place I have to be on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and this is good. Also is "social", which working in my basement office definitely is not.

I had a teacher who used to read Melville's oceanic passages from "Moby Dick" to us. J. Robert Trevor, or Bob as I came to know him a friend after being a teacher, and a very early supporter of my writing. I took a class from him after the Army, before UCLA, when I was lost and uncertain what to major in. He moved me in the direction of English. One of the best things he did is read to us to open the class. NO DISCUSSION! He just said, Listen carefully. And he'd read a poem or a passage from prose ... and then we'd move on to whatever we were studying. I remember once he called on me to explicate a cummings poem and when I was done, he said, I can't do any better than that. It was my first encouragement of my critical faculties in literature.

I visited Bob when he became Vice President of a community college in Kansas City. I stayed with him when I was flown out to the Univ of Mo after winning a playwriting contest. Later I stayed with him in Honolulu, a great visit. He died shortly thereafter.

Of the several unforgettable teachers I've had, Bob Trevor tops the list.

LATER. Oliver Stone's new film "W" comes out soon. I'm a great fan of his "Nixon" but I can't imagine that his study of Bush will be as powerful as his study of Nixon. Nixon was a tragic figure, his own worst enemy. From what I gather, Bush is just a good old boy. "W" surely must be a dark comedy at best. The current tragic figure, of course, is McCain. Tragic figures are their own worst enemies. Nixon's flaw was paranoia. McCain's is ambition.

LATER. Starting to hear the tone poem in my head. Hearing a cello, bass and muted trumpet. Eager to get it down. Hope it's still in my head when I get home!

LATER. 930a.m., soon to go out for breakfast, then hanging out or whatever. My leg is better but I don't want to overdo it and make it worse, as I have in the past ... a tough call, how much to walk? Watched a little news, McCain trying to position himself as savior of the economy, pretty pathetic. Letterman had a great rap against McCain for cancelling. And Obama says, well, I can multitask, and the Pres should be able to!

LATER. Breakfast at The Pines, a ritual here. Then a scenic drive up the coast. We got lost in a maze of dead end streets in Neskowin, finally found our way out. Took the back way to Pacific City, nice beach, let the dog run. Then home.

LATER. So many potentially extraordinary books will be written about the 2008 primaries and campaign. I expect to be gone by the time the best get written but I should be able to read some of the earliest interpretations. Obama's rise, Hillary blowing it, McCain's flip flop, Palin's strange history. Great drama and hidden realities galore.

THUR. Junk in the brain dept. Woke up with song lyrics in my head, which is not unusual. What is is that the lyrics are from 1967 or 1968, one of the songs I wrote during my folk singing period, words forgotten for 30+ years. One of those Dylanesque things everyone was writing at the time, this one in the melodic variation of a talking blues that Dylan was so good at (Subterranean Homesick Blues etc), one verse being this:

I like you for yourself and all the dust upon your shelf
and all of yesterday's ideas that fill your head
It takes all kinds to make a world and that includes both your and me
as well as all the living and the dead
We're different, I don't mind
I'm trying to be kind
It's been done

How remarkable that these 40 year old lyrics could have been written today! A little depressing actually.

Has there ever been a more unlearned, undisciplined, unethical ticket than McC/P in American politics? I can't think of any. With all the thoughtful conservatives jumping ship, a close race can only be explaned by two isms ... racism against O, and classism against intellectuals. In a sense, the election is a barometer of the spritual health of the country, the closer the race, the sicker we are. I can understand people who don't want to vote for O. I don't understand people who vote for McC unless they are racists, classist, or stupid. He is too erratic, untrustworthy, and his running mate too fringe wacko. I can understand not voting, voting for a 3rd party, or voting for O without enthusiasm as the lesser of two evils. But enthusiasm for erratic lying manipulative dishonesty and disgrace? Sad. Very sad.

LATER. Alice in Wonderland. That's what the campaign is. Someone is going to claim the Earth is flat any moment now.

Worked on the splay in progress this morning, a good boost of energy because I like it. Will try and finish a draft ASAP.

We'll be heading out within the hour, taking a scenic leisurely trip home. Maybe lunch in Depot Bay, a cafe H wants to check out. Then maybe back roads home, no hurry.

This has been an excellent trip. A battery charge. Better, a reconnection for us, too damn busy most of the time to do just hang out. So it's fun and energizing and connecting at the same time.