Sun streams in like white-hot orange syrup.
Nectar sweet in my mouth, curled up after work on the stained beanbag like a rose, the smell of it like a thorn, the curtains making hazy shadows on my shoulders, like wings like ghosts.
Papercuts and lacy angel drapes shaped cut-paper-thin against the brilliance of a falling sun.
I place my ear aginst your heart your chest to feel the drumming thrum within. It sounds like the purr of the largest cat in the world. I curl around that reverberation and let it warm the thump of my heart.
When I arrived at the bookstore today the power was out. I sat in the sun instead, outside the plate-glass windows of the darkened store and read Murakami : "Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World", which is a book reccomended to me by Cassidy. That he loves it and thought I would too is something that is ever-present in my mind as I plow through it, but it doesn't give me too much grief anymore. I am having trouble staying interested in the plot since everything is totally random. So-far. There are unicorn skulls in it though, so that's a plus. His writing still seems to me to be very meticulous and ..how shall i say it...fastidious. So many people I know adore him, but I always come back to the first person that reccomended him to me: Greg Braithwaite-a man who wore an apron with panache and whose famous quote is "I can't resist a woman covered in cleaning products". To me, Murkami and Greg are a perfect match. I loe the covers:
BOTH OF THEM
Sci-fi/Fantasy (which are always grouped together but are totally seperate things : one being speculative fiction inspired by the Future and one being speculative fiction inspired by the Past) has been obsessing me lately. I found a book of short tales by Tanith Lee and read an article in The Believer by China Mieville and have been constantly thinking about the common thought that these genres are escapist and juvenile. After reading Lee and Mieville I am struck with the idea that they are instead truly the most politically and culturally obsessed genres. Mieville himself (I think I'm forming another literary crush here) is politically a Trotskyist (?) and Cambridge educated. The man says sentences off-the-cuff in his interviews that I can't even THINK. His
list of political sci-fi is inspiring and interesting. Adds to my recent feeling of not wanting to do anything that doesn't enrich me in some way.
Last night Mykle and I were entertained at the Great American Music Hall, where the amazingly entertaining Yard Dogs Travelling Roadshow preformed their obscene vaudville madhouse hijinks. I was thouroughly impressed: burlesque
rag-bag costumes, huge curly moustaches, banging on pots and pans, sword-swallowing, fire tricks, all with Morgan's madcap wild-eyed brother Leighton presiding as the ringmaster. I am the biggest fan in the world of the Americana Circus-sideshow asthetic (Tom Waits did it to me), but at one point (the audience was as bedecked in bowler hats and dreadlocks and booty shorts and garter-belts and cravats as the performers were) I was like "YIKES it's another scene"...and I had a bit of sadness for the demise of it, when it comes, cause nothing that becomes a scene lasts too long. It must become passe and then all of the sinuous tattooed boys and girls in vests and top-hats must move on to Vegas-punk or lawyer-trash or whatever is next.
That said, I felt completely at home there. It was like Burning Man but without bros and god-awful techno. I hate the bass! I hate the bass! Give me a tin can and a string and I'll make you a midnight radio.
