The problem is I want to drink to celebrate, but the drinking drains the clarity, and thus, the very reason for celebration.
Today I woke up and went to get coffee. Afterward, I wandered. Limitless afterwards. I walked into the city to see a movie with Brian, realized that I’d never been in love before, very strange, and we walked in loops around the park, like lazy ribbons, talking and talking. We passed a teenager being arrested, a Mediterranean man careening through an intersection, aiming at his friend on the opposite corner (“Hey! Hey Jimmy!” he’s wailing. I didn’t even realize this type of thing existed anymore).
I ran into ____________ while in a magazine store, on my way home, late. He made fun of me for being recognizably messy, even at a distance, but the way he looked at me, with the twinkle, made me feel unselfconscious, and maybe affectionate. I walked home afterward, limitless afterwards, only giving up to hail a cab after crossing the Williamsburg bridge and realizing it was nearly 4. Before that I walked over the bridge and read, under a hallway of chemical-burn halogen lights dangling from metal rafters. I read and walked, even though it was late. I didn’t pass a soul along the way.
It was a five dollar cab ride, that’s it, but I tipped generously out of gratitude to finally be at rest. That was November the 25th.
“On the front, residential buildings in Amsterdam are mostly neatly aligned. The hand of an architect or urban planner is clearly visible. On the back, people might have built their own balcony or expanded their house. Together with fire escapes, antennas, satellite dishes, trees and bushes that have grown too big, these area’s became urban chaos. It lacks a planned structure, and therefore shows how a city grows organically.”—Rear Window. It achieves a woozy grace; the highest aspiration.
A collection of curated playlists from Will Hermes, author of Love Goes to Buildings on Fire: Five Years in New York That Changed Music Forever. Each spans a one month period in 1973, 1974, and 1975 — featuring everybody from Lou Reed to Miles Davis to The New York Dolls, plus historical context provided by Hermes’ himself — and they are all amazing. The book.
“Light glitters differently on water that is clear. I understood that I had never really seen the moon reflected on water before.”—
on Lake Baikal. one of the more handsomely poetic observations from Ian Frazier’s Travels in Siberia.
that and the constant eating of fish, always attached to a smiling anecdote:
The fish were small, but wrapped in wet paper from Katya’s sketchbook and baked in the coals of our beach fire, they tasted fine.
Volodya took the fish the guy had brought and gutted them, split them to the backbone, filled them inside with slices of lemon and garlic and handfuls of coarse salt, and tied them shut with string. At the end of the day he cut the string, removed the lemon and garlic and salt, scaled the fish, rinsed them quickly in the lake, and cut them into half-inch slices for sushi. They tasted wonderful, though you had to watch the bones. "Esh’ akkuratno" (Eat accurately), Sergei advised.
“You people come into the market — the Greenmarket, in the open air under the downpouring sun — and you slit the tomatoes with your fingernails.”—John McPhee, Giving Good Weight. That is an amazing way to begin a story, I feel.
“This probably wouldn’t help the problem you’re describing, but it sounds like Kickstarter is ripe for a blog dedicated to highlighting and bashing the absurd projects. Yes, Kickstarter needs its own version of what Regretsy is to Etsy. I’m really surprised no one has done this yet, actually.”—a comment from the “End Online Panhandling Forever” piece on Gawker today .
ali read my tarot last night. the card that he pulled to “represent my current situation” was one of a wealthy merchant who longs to travel the world but is imprisoned in his castle by success. that made me laugh.
i drew the devil as my representation of self, death as my future. i drew a woman blind-folded and imprisoned, and a man offered the cup of knowledge who refuses to drink. i drew three women offering libations to the gods, toasting the sky with three, golden cups. “they will be either your saviors or your downfall,” ali explained. the future is malleable.
i drew the chariot — a great battle will be fought — but it was inverted, so the battle may be lost.
in the end, there were three sets of three cups represented in the tarot cards laid out before us. in each, the central figure had turned their back to the chalice — representing a stubborn nature, an unwillingness to recognize salvation, and a determination to wallow.
in one, a man’s cloak had become his tomb as he wept over spilled wine, failing to notice the two, full cups resting directly behind his right ankle.
there have been a lot of studies about the brain’s compulsion to find patterns and meaning where none necessarily exist, but.