at the house: making it through December.
No, I like at the house. Simple. Unadorned.
Like in our time. Dave Eggars just won a National Book Award
for his distinguished service to American letters. I watched the ceremony
on BookTV. Orwell, who fought in Spain and washed dishes in Paris,
a plongeur, said Henry Miller knew the real people of Paris, the, dare I say it,
working people. In the movie Henry and June, Kevin Spacey said,
"Henry writes about fucking," as if he were crazy.
He rode a bicycle. I think I need to watch that again.
To me, Miller wrote about work, and how capitalism was sick.
He gave the Mall Builder culture an enema, like me. It needed
a good scour. Hemingway looked down on Ernest Walsh for being with
debutantes in mink coats. Café society. I look down
on Hemingway for being a careerist.
I'm sorry you lost it. Who told you
to get drunk? John Barleycorn.
There, but for the grace of God,
go I.