Finding ways to be present like a poet– the way I imagine a traditional poet at work–  in contemplative reverie with the essence of whatever channelling though them… the attentiveness to the still moment– for the realism parts of the book.

Just the facts of the plot of Gatsby make the point.  Can’t fuck that up.  Pool and telephone and gun.  What I do with the gun has to be more forceful.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *