Thursday, September 26, 2013

Not a Word







 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Unfettered and Alive





Dear Ones,


     Today, I am a free man in Paris.  I am thinking of you, and I send you these treats from the Champs Elysees.  We will make some together, when I get back.


 Å bientôt, mes amis.
















Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Travel by Pocket to Save Space














Dear Searchers of All Sorts,
 

Is your house a machine for living in?  Are your pockets and books a time machine for traveling by?


Pockets and evening bags are salted in anticipation of rediscovering stubs and ephemera-  I continue to leave my Alban Gerhardt ticket in my over coat, so I can visit the concert again and again; next year, late fall.  I will recall his breathing and swaying in unison with his cello; bow streaming back and forth.  He and his cello were transcendent, and remembering the two, even after 20 years, yields frisson.

A subway pass in a raincoat, from 13 years ago:  I pull out the wrinkled paper square and the rain, the gray and the damp of Paris.

There are notes and lists in cookbooks and poetry volumes-  “register for hat class; talk to E. re: schedule.”  Or, a diagram of dishes to serve at a party, with bowls and platters labeled and assigned to “almond bean dip” and “artichoke toasts.” 

Sometimes even matchbooks from far away places, like Jack’s Waffle House.  





If you'd like a little contextual overlap in today's entry, try Alban Gerhardt's audio section, and listen to a track from Solo Cello, titled Kodaly: Sonata for Solo Cello - Allegro maestoso.  This music was composed just a few years before Le Corb wrote his Vers Une Architecture.








 

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

From Nowhere, Silly Geese.


 
 
  
 
 
 







 
Untitled,  James Castle, 20th.c.








Dear Watchful Ones,


     Did you hear them?  See them?  Today, in the wee first blush of light, a tremolo whistle, then louder; a distinct chorus of honks.  First, in the West, then the East-  then, with a low fury, right overhead.  Each wingbeat sounding against the dense dawn.  They circled very wide, very low, and then?  To the South, in a undulating arc.  If you see them, they will be one of 11 different subspecies.

     Let them turn the season for you.











    
      In honor of the geese and their beating direction, many more maps, to guide you, or shape your thoughts, if you will.  These maps came to me just a little before the geese did, from a dear co-conspirator. 







     Something else, about, or for, the world.