sunset line. i'm bleary trying to finish with mr. x. like m. plath he won't be finished, just the book. i won't be able to review it right. so much is crazy near the color lines, power lines, so electric, arbitrary, harsh, jangly, absurd, deadly. the desert notebooks beckoning. it goes back so far this invasion and i only go this far but i see how bizarre life became beforehand and aftermath crossed up with the pervasive undying lie of race.