[_Journalized_11.22.2011_]

A day of overwhelming tides, but a good day.

I'm working on a research project for a certain intellectual luminary, creating some potentially useful contextual annotations (we shall see . . .) to a clutch of absolutely dirty poems by T.S. Eliot. I've spent the last few mornings plinking away at that.

Otherwise, more work underway on the Dylan dissertation, and a meeting with my adviser today to map out the last thrust of that effort, in its present phase (as it were, so to speak; no not that kind of thrust). On a related subject, I continue to (sort of) broker exchanges of Dylan-alia between people who've amazing things at their disposal. And that is kind of an amazing experience, itself. I've just been made aware of what may some interesting Basement-Tapes related material. We shall see.

Otherwise, the Cassavetes project again rears its horny head (no, not that kind of horny; jesus, okay, enough). It may never end.

Fiction Note: My short story "White-Blue Light" — a piece wholly unlike any part of "The Dirt Baby" — has been accepted by The Adirondack Review, placing as a finalist in the quarterly's Fulton Prize for Short Fiction. "White-Blue Light" is a deeply meaningful piece, to me. It is part of a trilogy of sorts, three short stories that explore different ideas about the absence of 9/11 (more on that, another time). All three in the trilogy (the loose, loose trilogy) have been pinged as finalists in various prizes over the past eleven months. This is the first of the trio to go the distance and get to the published page. And so it goes.

I have to do an interview about dragonflies, now. And this is the life of working for not any one being. (You know that a corporation is now a being, right?)