Presently I am trying to write about a trashy 19th-century dime novel while rereading The Autobiography of Malcolm X. This is not easy. I may go insane.

In other bad news, I have to go Christmas shopping again because my last attempt was a bust. However, I am grateful that the house is warm and I have a lot of good strong coffee. Also, I'm glad to have a funny picture of Roy Orbison that makes him look like Red Riding Hood's grandma dressed up as Buddy Holly.

What would Walt Whitman say about my state of mind? Let's find out:

from A Song of Joys

(O something pernicious and dread!

Something far away from a puny and pious life!

Something unproved! something in a trance!

Something escaped from anchorage and driving free.)

Thank you, Fortune Cookie Walt. I knew I could count on you to come up with something loud, exhilarating, ambiguous, and applicable to all circumstances.