Waiting. Job interviews, notes from people reading the novel, subtle shifts, new worlds approaching, as yet to be discovered. When in limbo, make asparagus-walnut pesto, chipotle-cilantro black bean soup, sautéed mushroom and grilled polenta, digest three seasons of Mad Men and photograph dead tulips.
A fun night visiting friends who are fellows at Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin this year (library below). Alfonso kickcd a** at ping pong, I admired the spring blossoms. Finally!
There are a handful of jokes in this lil’ essay, but don’t sneeze, or you’ll miss ‘em. Text version here.
“(Swinburne is) a braggart in matters of vice, who has done everything he could to convince his fellow citizens of his homosexuality and bestiality without being in the slightest degree a homosexual or a bestializer.”
Damn, Oscar Wilde, throw down the decadent gauntlet! Nevermind Wilde himself was derided by Edmond de Goncourt as lifting his poncy [...]
At the end of another dense editing day, we walked ourselves like a couple of pups through the twilight. Buds! Clouds! Vintage lingerie! It will be so good, as Whitman says, to finally “loafe and invite my soul.”
75,000 words, 350 pages. That, ladies and gents, is a novel!
We will walk into the sun now, I will buy it a coffee, and begin our new conversation:
is that really what I mean? is that all I have to say on the subject? is there a more lovely way to say it?
It will be longer, [...]