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Jose did not shine a light. As a matter of fact this last book of his was really quite dark, and only helped me to feel more hopeless about the current state of the world. But then I read The Magic of Blood by Dagoberto Gilb, stories quite similar to Ray Carver in their humanity, simplicity, and humor, and the made me feel somehow right again. Or at least cognizant of something resembling levity.

I currently feel afloat in my own fictional world as we are moving tomorrow. Funny how the term moving applies to one day, as we are always moving. In this case, it seems as though we have been in the process of moving for some time now. It feels fictional as I consider the oscillations of the last two years here in Troy. I will not list for I still have much to do. I love moving though, for I find such possibility buzzing around these new turns.

For now, the crickets rub beneath my open window. Teenagers giggle and cough, their sandals whacking the pavement. The neighbor upstairs high-heels down the steps and out the door. Where will the night take her? Her dog cries. I sit on the only remaining piece of furniture, a mattress on the floor. My son is asleep on his back, his left hand resting on his belly. He gives me an incredible hope for this world. I imagine I am simply overcome by his innocence, but there is something truly profound about watching your baby sleep.

On another note, I just discovered that my new record, though to be released on September 9th, is available for pre-order if anyone feels so inclined. Or impatient. Or excited. Click here.

And again I am up. The kitchen awaits.

Posted by jeff pitcher at August 21, 2008 09:30 PM

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