Fog (in a)

Madrid is a ghost town. Yesterday was May 1, which is normally a national holiday, but since it fell on a Sunday, it is getting passed to today (everywhere except Madrid, where it gets passed to tomorrow, since today is also a local holiday).

Anyway, most everyone has left town, everything is closed, it's like being in suspended animation.

Am not able to get anything written, or at least to finish anything.

I have been reading a fair bit, making up for lost time, as it were, all those weeks of travel when I didn't read anything. So I've just read three of Donald Westlake's Dortmunder novels, which were great fun.

Alas, am now out of those (must pick up the last few I'm missing when back in NYC at the end of the month) and not sure what to start on next.

(Work? What for?)

There was a little bit of gratifying-for-the-ego today, where the opening to my poem "How to Make a Human," is quoted in this roundtable by Mike Allen, Theodora Goss, and Alan De Niro over at Strange Horizons:
http://www.strangehorizons.com/2005/20050502/poetry-symposium1-a.shtml