Ski vacation resort
April 27: One of the stories I heard about Hemingway's suicide was that it was brought on by his belief that he couldn't write, anymore. I thought of him because this weekend I've been feeling like I no longer can write--I mean, really write (or compose visual poems); apparently, I'll always be able to blog, although even that's not so easy for me at present. This has happened to me before, so I'm not worried, nor do I have even the smallest thought of doing myself in. What is interesting to me, though, is how worthless the state makes me feel. I do think that if it persisted for months that suicide would be quite rational. Except for others' sake, like Shirley, my cat's. . . .
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