the cold, the dark, and the not at all silent
Friday June 27th 2014, 9:59 pm
Filed under: change,friends Tags:

10 years ago, give or take (and I know I’m different as I’m resisting looking up the details, fighting off the need to be absolutely right {though not the impulse to digress}), friends moved to Africa. To Zimbabwe, then, and later to Ghana. And now, with what must be mixed and complex feelings, away from Africa. I never made it there to visit you, which I regret, and we never made it, which we regret. But hopefully the next chapter of your border-crossing world-bettering lives will be as compelling as these past chapters. And I may never make it to the lake of neutrality, either, but it’s not because you’re not missed keenly. The silence isn’t so silent, the distance not so very distant, and the chances to cross it, though not taken as often as they should be, not wholly missed, either. But out of the lands of one set of stereotypes to the land of still others, wishing you as much adventure to come as you’ve had. Hopefully with houses that don’t try to kill you. In’sh’allah, as Bea would say. Move well.



strip, prep, prime, paint
Friday June 20th 2014, 10:36 pm
Filed under: Miscellaneous, Truly,something new Tags:

It’s on. 2 articles, a conference talk, and a seminar for an international selection of grad students. Followed by a proper two weeks off, 6 weeks of summer teaching, and then a whole year to get it done. Oh, yeah, and some nesting to do. Here for now, maybe (in’sh’allah) SaMo in a year. The million things one wants but not quite needs but kind of maybe sort of requires are appearing from many fronts. And everyone seems so damned pleased. As if this is a good idea, a good plan. Huh. Don’t really matter. It’s on.



Communio
Saturday June 07th 2014, 10:21 pm
Filed under: Berkeley,memory,reminiscence Tags:

Mozart’s Requiem, my less contentious recording, in the background, and the shocking realization it has been twenty years since that summer – quitting fencing after Nationals, a blade that wouldn’t break in a co-op room in Berkeley as I wept and wrote and smoked., some-of-us-are-bugs and I in the first flush of summertime young love (a Memorial Day three hand picnic with the physicist, down at the marina, which in hindsight should’ve registered as more meaningful), the post-nationals prelude to letters and long nights and Sherman drama. 19 and Paris by summer, a place to stay with Curro-esque that never manifested, the travelers cheques (!!!) lost, the flower seller on pont Neuf who believed homosexuality was wrong but gave me francs and smokes and a lighter, Bernard the architect and the Tuileries. Construction and return, cheesecake in north Berkeley and milk routes. Arvo Part and Blues & Roots the nightly soundtrack to sleep, and candlewax I can smell in burgundy and black on an African print fabric.

I wasn’t so tired, then, I don’t think (though I could never get out of the hostel before midday). Teaching done, though a spot of grading still to come. And another year, seasons less powerful than the academic year, has rolled around.



the space between notes
Wednesday June 04th 2014, 10:21 pm
Filed under: Boozy,transitions Tags:

Music, that is, said Debussy. Another quarter, and with it another year, ends. Papers yet to be submitted and to be graded, meetings and exams and all do the other rituals. But IT, dear Jeff whose last name I’ve never known, appears to be ON, barring the disasters of the excessive and the supernumerary. Weeks, only, to know.