Does ‘has an imaginary conversation with Hitler under his bed’ go in an annotated table of contents or not?

The Commemoration of the Ghetto Uprising in Israel 15 October, 1950

Rehashing old material on my part, but my sentiments remain unchanged:

blumalangerobertson.substack.com/p/the-celebr...

Some nights, I dream of my dead relations. Some nights, I dream of deli sandwiches with a good pickle on the side.

Woke up wondering again how I have come to this land of no marbled rye.

I’m still waiting for the ‘people like [me]’ to be sent my way.

Surely people as absolute shit as I am at stuff are a dime a dozen.

Ok, so, someone who actually reads Bashevis — how many fake-seances with a confederate who hides in the bathroom and gets caught *are* there?

I can think of at least two.

Maybe I need this.

Can’t make things worse.

Unusually chill today because I had a wonderful memory lapse/autopilot moment and took my heart pills twice.

Don’t tell anyone, but this is fantastic. This must be what being a WASP is like all the time.

Caligula the Guinea pig has apparently decided that human fingers are delicious.

I await more news

I yearn for the Ashkenazi Hebrew of my childhood.

At school we learned the ‘proper’ pronunciation. But what I really yearn for is shul c1985 with all the old guys that are gone now.

I try to be good and keep my personal interests for the Internet. We went out to dinner and he managed to look so disappointed with me that I couldn’t keep it in the whole time.

I am now a very serious debt collector with no room for ‘stuff.’

I found *a* good rock in my pocket, but not THE good rock I got in Normandy.

Or the really good agate my partner threw out.

He is doing a lot of bellyaching, that is certain.

It is dark, wet and stinks. Also, it is slimy.

Charmingly these sonnets are all from Jonah’s point of view, inside the fish.

We used to joke at uni any time they wanted to show us a film — has it got Colm Meaney in it?

To the point where we were threatened with Man of Aran and the response was ‘Alright, but only if Colm Meaney’s in it.’

I’ve entered the stage of migraine where the pills are starting to work and now I feel like I’m in that early hangover phase where you’re still drunk but you know it’s going to be a bad one.

I don’t have access to later Tsukunft or non-digitised issues of Tog and such, so it leaves me with a handful of books by other people.

What does that mean? Hell if I know.

One last ring of sonnets.

Then I’ll have read two (very non-fiction) books, seven books of poetry, some 21 plays and play-like things and hundreds of newspapers articles.

Madame George is such a wonderful song (Hell, all of Astral Weeks) but Van Morrison…WTF.

I just found something I think is really neat, but I don’t have anyone to talk it through with.

But I suspect it also has something to do with a greater awareness of inconceivable sorts of numbers following the war:

When you were roughly aware of the size of your personal world before the Khurbn and are acutely, painfully aware of the exact numbers it has shrunk by afterwards…

It does stuff.

Is it science?

Yes!

I know he’s got an eye on Einstein, for one, quoting him in at least one interview and dealing with him a bit more in another article.

In an interesting development, Leivick has abandoned decades, centuries, even thousands of years — we are now firmly into millions and billions.

And I’m left to ponder the reasons for this expansion.

Oh, look, it’s not even lunchtime and it’s already too much internet.

Fun fact: I know that you don’t really want to know how I am when you ask.

I just don’t care.

Which, of course, only really addresses Ashkenazi Jews, because we all know those are the only Jews there are and they should go back to Poland.

Well, right now it’s just that same old huge to-do about Yiddish and anti-Zionism and ‘resurrecting’ Hebrew when Jews should be speaking Yiddish….

Just got so cold reading a poem I had to go and have a hot bath.

It’s up to you if this is a result of our miserly use of the central heating.

There was also the double standard where a visiting artist could perform in Yiddish, but not a resident — again, if I recall correctly.