Some further unquietude

It is a lack of imagination, as well as a vulgar error, to mistake imagination for madness.

– Porrider’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

Lolling on the beach, and I don’t care.  Could watch, and listen to, the surf all day, with no
danger of boredom.  “Forget about the restless world of Anglo-Saxon discipline,” said
David Ossman.

Yesterday, Paul and I hung out underneath an overpass bridge, singing bicinia. (Auto-
correct thought I meant bikinis.)  No, in fact we were sober.  Good fun, nevertheless.

Spent some time this morning figuring out how to harvest that audio, may use it for
marginal expansion of the fixed media for A Heart So White.  Mostly, I think we need
more knocking, which out to be easy enough.

When the sun beats down

And I lie on the [beach] ….

All in all, I suppose I must reconcile myself to not being able to wrangle a pianist for my
Clarinet Sonata.  Again, the important thing is:  A. The piece is written, and I think it
a solid, more-than-respectable accomplishment;  and B. I stand ready to play it, myself.

[Later:]  I think I like the quasi-vocal sort-of-interpolations in the fixed media.  I shall let
the additional knocking wait upon my return to Boston.