…I took a nap after a screening of a film I didn’t mind, a walk as mild in temperament as in temperature, a so-so lunch with a sort-of friend, and some busy work deserving no parallel phrase. I mention all this by way of saying that my brain battery was running on empty and, with assignments looming and cleverness left to crunch, the only solution was sleep. (Caffeine in these matters is greatly overrated.) Besides, moon was void of course and mercury was retrograding and on top of everything there was that big old lunar eclipse in Pisces on the horizon. A lot of stars under which to snooze.
I hadn’t intended to dive so deeply as to have a dream–had thought more along the lines of quick and pretty shut-eye–but also didn’t mind when I found myself stepping clear into another world. It halved the day in a way I needed.
–I dreamed that [name redacted] and I had an opportunity to sleep together after all–to roll into each other lazily sloppily easily on a divan I hadn’t known was there–and as I’d expected it was good, not just decadent. Continue Reading →
Temperatures cool, winds pick up. The doves huddle on the fire escape, permakitten creeps closer by my side. Coming up from intuition sessions I’m so wild-eyed and ravenous. Rice goes in the cooker, mushrooms and asparagus get chopped. We roast a chicken Bitman-style: sea-salted, thymed and magic-oiled, stuffed with olives, garlic, lemon, and chili peppers, cast-ironed at high, high heat. Eyebrow cocked, ogle the big sunset (too soon, too soon), then Astaire’s restless gams, Wilder’s Daddy Long Legs. Caron on the satin screen, Hermine on the horizon, summer in the rear-view mirror. Rueful, real: red wine for all.
I woke four hours later than I normally do, and strains of the Beatles song “Yesterday” were already ringing in my ears. I’ve been trying to write for five hours and thus far my greatest achievement has been to kill a fly with my bare hands. Even permakitten Grace has given up supporting my desultory stabs at productivity–felinnui is real, man–and the four shots of espresso I’ve swilled have failed to lift the fog of my alleged brain. New moon and solar eclipse be damned. Nothing transcends the gloom of the last unofficial week of summer.
…I took a nap after a screening of a film I didn’t mind, a walk as mild in temperament as in temperature, a so-so lunch with a sort-of friend, and some busy work deserving no parallel phrase. I mention all this by way of saying that my brain battery was running on empty and, with assignments looming and cleverness left to crunch, the only solution was sleep. (Caffeine in these matters is greatly overrated.) Besides, moon was void of course and mercury was retrograding and on top of everything there was that big old lunar eclipse in Pisces on the horizon. A lot of stars under which to snooze.
Temperatures cool, winds pick up. The doves huddle on the fire escape, permakitten creeps closer by my side. Coming up from intuition sessions I’m so wild-eyed and ravenous. Rice goes in the cooker, mushrooms and asparagus get chopped. We roast a chicken Bitman-style: sea-salted, thymed and magic-oiled, stuffed with olives, garlic, lemon, and chili peppers, cast-ironed at high, high heat. Eyebrow cocked, ogle the big sunset (too soon, too soon), then Astaire’s restless gams, Wilder’s Daddy Long Legs. Caron on the satin screen, Hermine on the horizon, summer in the rear-view mirror. Rueful, real: red wine for all.
I woke four hours later than I normally do, and strains of the Beatles song “Yesterday” were already ringing in my ears. I’ve been trying to write for five hours and thus far my greatest achievement has been to kill a fly with my bare hands. Even permakitten Grace has given up supporting my desultory stabs at productivity–felinnui is real, man–and the four shots of espresso I’ve swilled have failed to lift the fog of my alleged brain. New moon and solar eclipse be damned. Nothing transcends the gloom of the last unofficial week of summer.