Too Tired

Riding 50 miles in two days and saddled with company and time at the jazz club have floored me, no time for real thinking today, scraps of thought about Gunter Grass and perhaps squeezing another novel into the week. There are many considerations on that kast point, though I will heft the Fisk for the week and I am suddenly keenly interested in an early 20C author named John Cowper Powys. I have encountered the name innumerable times but it was always that the provincial Englishness of such that proved such a bother.