Friday morning. First day of September. For the past week I've been walking to work and feeling cool autumnal winds. It's smelled like back-to-school, more specifically I've been having bittersweet memories of university.
I just hooked up to CBC Radio One and there's some guy who's studied under a Seattle espresso guru giving pointers on what describes a perfect espresso shot. He says there are 52 details to consider while making an espresso, so he doesn't talk while making one. He makes latte sound pornographic. So I swap to Radio 2 and a woman with a smoky alto is singing Cohen's Hallelujah. Of course it makes me think of Jeff Buckley. What a waste. **Turns out it was KD Lang singing. Man, I really need to pony up and get her records. She's a national treasure.**
I'm still slogging through the volumes of Proust's In Search of Lost Time. It's been a long journey of mundane alleys and beautiful vistas. Surly's convinced that it's not really read that much. He's probably right. The latest volume had a library check-out slip in it from October 2001.
One of the latest vistas, from The Fugitive. After his woman leaves him:
....I pictured Albertine starting on a life which she had deliberately chosen to lead apart from me, perhaps for a long time, perhaps for ever, a life in which she would realise that unknown element which in the past had so often troubled me, even though I enjoyed the good fortune of possessing, of caressing what was its outer shell, that charming face, impenetrable and captive. It was this unknown element that formed the core of my love. As for Albertine herself, she scarcely existed in me save under the form of her name, which, but for certain rare moments of respite when I awoke, came and engraved itself upon my brain and continued incessantly to do so. If I had thought aloud, I should have kept on repeating it, and my speech would have been as monotonous, as limited, as if I had been transformed into a bird, a bird like the one in the fable whose song repeated incessantly the name of her whom it had loved when a man. One says the name to oneself, and since one remains silent it is as though one were inscribing it inside oneself, as thought it were leaving its trace on one's brain, which must end up, like a wall on which somebody has amused himself scribbling, by being entirely covered with the name, written a thousand times over, of the woman one loves. One rewrites it all the time in one's mind when one is happy, and even more when one is unhappy. And one feels a constantly recurring need to repeat this name which brings one nothing more than what one already knows, until, in course of time, it wearies us....
And now, the music from Bladerunner on the radio. I must go shower and run out the door.
I just hooked up to CBC Radio One and there's some guy who's studied under a Seattle espresso guru giving pointers on what describes a perfect espresso shot. He says there are 52 details to consider while making an espresso, so he doesn't talk while making one. He makes latte sound pornographic. So I swap to Radio 2 and a woman with a smoky alto is singing Cohen's Hallelujah. Of course it makes me think of Jeff Buckley. What a waste. **Turns out it was KD Lang singing. Man, I really need to pony up and get her records. She's a national treasure.**
I'm still slogging through the volumes of Proust's In Search of Lost Time. It's been a long journey of mundane alleys and beautiful vistas. Surly's convinced that it's not really read that much. He's probably right. The latest volume had a library check-out slip in it from October 2001.
One of the latest vistas, from The Fugitive. After his woman leaves him:
....I pictured Albertine starting on a life which she had deliberately chosen to lead apart from me, perhaps for a long time, perhaps for ever, a life in which she would realise that unknown element which in the past had so often troubled me, even though I enjoyed the good fortune of possessing, of caressing what was its outer shell, that charming face, impenetrable and captive. It was this unknown element that formed the core of my love. As for Albertine herself, she scarcely existed in me save under the form of her name, which, but for certain rare moments of respite when I awoke, came and engraved itself upon my brain and continued incessantly to do so. If I had thought aloud, I should have kept on repeating it, and my speech would have been as monotonous, as limited, as if I had been transformed into a bird, a bird like the one in the fable whose song repeated incessantly the name of her whom it had loved when a man. One says the name to oneself, and since one remains silent it is as though one were inscribing it inside oneself, as thought it were leaving its trace on one's brain, which must end up, like a wall on which somebody has amused himself scribbling, by being entirely covered with the name, written a thousand times over, of the woman one loves. One rewrites it all the time in one's mind when one is happy, and even more when one is unhappy. And one feels a constantly recurring need to repeat this name which brings one nothing more than what one already knows, until, in course of time, it wearies us....
And now, the music from Bladerunner on the radio. I must go shower and run out the door.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
Me too. It looks like I'll be stuck with children living across the street regardless. And they all looked like dog people. At least their yard is fenced, but fences only work if the gates are kept shut. I forgot to ask the landlord if he was allowing pets. It's actually a pretty good yard for dogs.
I just checked and the KPSU broadcast links are down. They may have been having problems when you tried to listen earlier. It's currently 60's psychadelic-ish music.
xoxoxo jm