Look Homeward Angel

well it looks like i'm finally moving home.

the books are at looooong last back: Borges, Paz, Hardy, Styron, and the moldy "Sailor on Horseback". That perfect Penguin orange. The Faulkner font. The "Macbeth" still with the blue felt pen markings: underlining the words that in their underlining saved them forever to my mind. "sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care...." The essential "It Came from the Far Side!" Robert Motherwell, thank goodness. Tillich. Even "I am a Bunny!". Not Andrea's books, but her clothes. All still heavy with good tailoring and covered in sparkly things. Such a life she had. Many many books lost with the old house,(worst: my Charlotte's Web that I remember placing on the green room shelf like I did it today). So, some things retrieved, mixed in with the previous owners NYC playbills and Mitchner novels.

"Clea" finally! - lost in 1987 with not much left to go then. I think I'll start it again (after having been alive forever, and to Alexandria even - who would have believed it?) Where are all those philosophy books that I hacked my way through once upon a time? Those I want most. I'll find them. There are always more boxes. My house feels much more a home though, though my wanderlust boils ever more the more I settle in.

Some stunning finds. Her note(s) and Prologue. My 'abridged party favor version' of her intensely dense doctoral thesis: "In the characters of ____ and ___ (buy the real thesis if you want to know who) Patrick White and William Faulkner respectively have created ..."

My few attempts at fiction writing: "Hunger" tucked into some auto insurance papers - thought I'd never find it.. One must look at EVERYthing, because you never know and treasures clearly prefer a l m o s t being tossed out with the old soaps and all the endless shuffled mildewed flotsomjetsom papers of banal quotidian life) So, at the very bottom of a box of beyond useless junk: "The Complete D.H. Lawrence" that I used to drag pretentiouslyprobably around, falling in love with loving and words. "I know no greater delight than the sheer delight of being alone./ It makes me realize the delicious pleasure of the moon/ that she has traveling by herself: throughout time/ or the splendid growing of an ash-tree alone, on a hillside in the north, humming in the wind.". --not even all that great, but I loved it then and am content that i still am so content on my own.

lovely October day. (candles before noon, peace, books, some traveling by myself throughout time, some splendid growing I can only hope. certainly some humming in the wind).

I guess i'm still here, still a bunny...