Naemuch to blog today. Like the rest of us Bostonians, woke up to the sound of thunder. The first storm of the season like visiting an old lover. But what in life isn't. Went promptly back to sleep after the storm and slept through my alarm, as usual.

Am not terribly concerned with the lollygagging of the climate and the erstwhile progression into summer. The leather jacket I bought in April seems to maintain the optimum temperature for the current clime, and I didn't even think I was going to have a use for it until the fall.

Am swamped with work, as per usual. Difficult to get any of my own writing done except for the Harold Brainerd Hersey remixes. I have to admit that even I lost patience with ol' Harold yesterday--must he use the word "breasts" in every goddamn poem? I'm running out of (vaguely) non-smarmy ways to use the word. I may have to start tweaking them a little more. The poems, that is. Doing a little research on Hersey turns up that he was actually a staunch ally of Margaret Sanger, the early birth control pioneer and at one point had something to do with a proposed biography of her. (Not sure if this was an ideological or merely a practical alliance, given Hersey's apparent enthusiasm for...activities resulting in birth). He also seems to have written a book of cowboy ballads and edited a book on Pulp Novels. I'd sort of like to get my hands on the cowboy ballads, actually...