Blocked and sluggish today. I did manage a semi-coherent addition to the conversation between myself and Chris Lott (and some anonymous poster—boy, am I sick of anonymous posters!) over here this morning. And I ordered some more poetry books for The Bookery, which at least feels useful. But I can't bring myself to look at Pound lately. I've been nibbling at Bloch and also Susan Buck-Morss' wonderful book on Benjamin. And I've been thinking about what happens to pastoral as refuge from history in the postmodern era, which by one definition is itself the forgetting of history. Who needs to hide from what you can't remember? This may all lead to something, but yesterday it led to napping and playing computer games. The weather hasn't helped. This is the wettest summer I can recall since I left New Orleans in 1996. Gray and more gray. I hope things clear up a bit for my friends Richard and Trevor when they come to visit next week.

Got some shelving to do. Deep thoughts later. Maybe much later.