A man less stained daily by sweltering weather would've gone to the most recent ( yesterday ) PoetrySucks! event at Dino's, but I was cooling to/re-exploring Loretta Clodfelter's There ( recommended: Francis Raven'slengthy piece - ah, length, done right, nooks, amblings, fringe/orbital relevances entering the body of the poem ) & mulling the bound/serial/contextual dimensions of Explosions In The Sky, who did the Ryman ( which is Nashville ) the previous night. As per usual, much obliged to the JRizz, clansmen and clanswomen eternally host this city in the best fashion. They are a good Joy Division song.
'P i d e r is reaching further stages in its sprawl, gathering bio notes and working out the technical issues in the html blah. A fist of artists like Beef Oven, Chris Hosea, and Debrah Morkun to name some.
As well, amping for the continental tour two weeks in the future: I want the ocean to throw myself into, carbonated, salts, froth, beach climates, Gary Busey swag, Point Break.
I am Judy and her Dream of Horses ( ! ), last night a dream: Ludicris being all actor-activist, friends making documentary on it, the southern plantation I'm squatting, the horse ( 'honey' ) roaming its innards, neighbors that complain a horse ought be tethered to a spire in the front lawn... the dream jot was: "honey/ the horse/ being free/ documentary / Lud / activists / chains treat / yard rain, constant / escape."
It is turning June-hot in Nashville, in which I swoon for the spiders that kiss me, their own way. I imagine them lurching in the grass awake this way.
O, hot summer nights worn hurrah-hurrah, the return of less: one does read so very hard, and much, to get to know a writing such as JoAnna Novak's writing: firstthis, then this, this, and this.