Taking a Wee Trip to Booneville

Daniel BooneMeaning to do some work today to really do some work: writing, a few things on Kafka who died at 40 from a thing we now can and all should (speaking from experience) survive, TB…

Followed by a submission, even, for a friend whose poetry publishing business is getting well and truly off the ground in admirable fashion, and then a good deal of progress to be made on a new novel, seeing as the last and the last and the one before that, ach, they have all amounted to sawdust and spit even as we know such things, too, are necessary and must be celebrated in their own way but not here, not here. No.

Well. No matter! It is the birthday, you see, of once and former frontiersman Daniel Boone, born on the 2nd of November in 1734 near Reading, Pennsylvania and the following gets my vote, at least for today, for the time being, for the best quote of all time, for it is seeing me through and helping to assuage assorted noxious notions of guilt and pause for wandering, however necessary all wandering is and always will be: “I have never been lost,” Boone once said, “but I will admit to being confused for several weeks.”

Yesssss. A thousand times yes.

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