Not enough words for magic. Language is a kind of magic itself, in that it is also the means of controlling* and steering a culture. It literally makes things the way they are; the building blocks of our perception and understanding of things, and by extension our approach.
In which a brief foray into an antiques shop unearthed some interesting new acquisitions for the archives.
Music, in a lesser but similar way, is a memory trigger like scent / smell. Visceral. And a visceral response is a true thing, or at the least a real thing, which may be the same after all.
There was a cafe in the 10th where Zac and I had our first breakfast. It was run by a couple of elderly men, had a mural on the rear wall. It's a place I think my dad would totally dig; charming, very unmodern.
Z has given us an assignment; a prompt for writing. What's good for you, and why†. I've been trying to find a way to frame it, find an angle, but I think a list will do. A practical approach against missing a deadline*. The players: Creating, Reading, Writing, Moving, Listening, Traveling, Observing, Editing. Whys after the jump.
Lying on the couch listening to Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations, and though I did not notice drifting off, I got lost in an odd dream— In which my mother was my roommate. A flaky and flighty one at that, nervous-making. In which a small, featherless chicken lived in the tank with the fish. It did not swim, it walked;… Continue reading The curious effect of a parallel minor on a Sunday afternoon
[A thing I’ve been meaning to write about, but have been waiting to see how it affects, beyond initial denial and impatience.] Twelve hours after landing back in Brooklyn from New Mexico, I sustained a godawful injury to my right foot under the most mundane circumstances. Went for x-rays the next day, as it was impossibly… Continue reading The vulnerability of connective tissues
Over the past month, Zac and I have had a fair few intense conversations. About All the Things. (His life is in Big Change mode. He is, reluctantly and after hard choices, leaving New York for a spell.) Reaction. Regret. Assumption. Presumption. Family. Work. Life. Future. Past. Friendship. Love. The upshot (and down) is that there's no end to Learning. (If you're lucky.)
A temperate autumn in New York. A fine season of walking for hours, walking and solving. Despite some t-shirt days, summer is long ago and a blanket of full dark arrives by half five or sooner. So: walking is more inward, seeing nothing unnecessary to navigation. I need to clear my cache. I’ve been unravelling some tangled… Continue reading deliberate transit
Fancy dreams this morning— traveling. Somewhere in the UK: an old, wood-carved and velvet house, rambling and endless. Met a racehorse in the breezeway; sport of kings and single malts neat. Took a million photos and woke up really wishing I could see them.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 