i've written you a poem, and the worst is

i'm about to read it to you...

The sun will set at 6:57 PM here on the east coast tonight. It will not set past 7:00 PM for nearly an eternity. We are entering the slow descent into the bowels of winter. Get cozy.

I have been loving this video of a young Enya with her family band, Clannad, doing “An Tull” on German TV in 1982. It is my new personality for the impending fall.

Not to worry, I have also been trying to read some books. I fought my way through Paterson by William Carlos Williams, The Poorhouse Fair by John Updike, and have since embarked on a posthumous novella by Louis-Ferdinand Celine called War — all of which are impossible to recommend books.

Avoid at all costs.

If you are interested in something you should read, the most recent article by Sheila Heti in Harper’s. The New Age Bible: On the Origins of A Course in Miracles is it. Trust me.

Q. Mr. Williams, can you tell me, simply, what poetry is?

A. Well… I would say that poetry is language charged with emotion. It’s words, rhythmically organized…A poem is a complete little universe. It exists separately. Any poem that has worth expresses the whole life of the poet. It gives a view of what the poet is.

Thank you for sticking with me. I hope all of you are doing wonderful.