Writing the business plan goes alright, though slowly. I feel it should have been finished by last Tuesday. As I told Minesh, (a young men on sabbatical here who’s been helping start Heart of the World beating), at one point, somewhere close to but not quite three in the morning, a chunk of e.e. cummings spun off a word and landed determinedly in the middle of a paragraph, so that it read like this:
For commercial, profit-making theatrical performances, as in the case of hold-over’s, touring shows, etcetera, my my sweet old etcetera, aunt lucy during the recent war could and what is more did tell you just what everybody was fighting for, my sister Isabel created hundreds (and hundreds)of socks not to mention fleaproof earwarmers etcetera wristers etcetera, my mother hoped that i would die etcetera bravely of course my father used to become hoarse talking about how it was a privilege and if only he could meanwhile my self etcetera lay quietly in the deep mud et cetera (dreaming, et cetera, of Your smile eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
I didn’t actually realize until I was reading it over the next morning, after some sleep, when it occurred to me that such things offer more insight into the muzzy velvet tangle my brain occupies when it’s exhausted than feels fair.
My film of the week: 9 by Shane Acker.