All Quiet on the Western Front
Another hiatus. September was re-settling. Recovering street names, meditative walking, trying on a bike for size, drinks and bites galore. Bowling, planning, wine. Newly engaging, tired conversations. Attempts at outrunning my rhythm. Cheesecake. Marveling at taxidermy. Discovering in Tran Van Thuy’s Chuyen Tu Te, or Story of Decency, a relatable problem, an admirable pursuit. Translation difficulties. Forgetting how to write a paper. Stable commitments. Schizoid concentration. Richard Avedon at the ICP reminded me of what you can capture about a place. No, rather, imbue. I didn’t love Paris when I visited. But his affair with the city made me jealous. Had an idea that lost its luster. Finding inspiration in sharing, at a monthly art salon. The organizers’ latest project: a mag of food remedies. NYC friends came and went. I went home. Celebrated birthdays. Attended my first synagogue. Was honoring a bride. Florida is lame. Girltalk. Craving new music. Western Mass air is filled with pine and crispness this time of year. Dry leaves swirl in eddies under car wheels. Dance party, food coma. I forget to focus.