Back N Forth

made the comeback on saturday from four weeks paradisical: for all the rare, exotic pleasures that ensure from doing nada but what one wants, there’s nonetheless plenty o’pain and bitter taste from the sense that time passes all too quickly, that every single moment of leisure is itself a victim, devoured by and devouring itself, all tempus edax rerum wherein all forms of delight and joy chow down on themselves, like snakes sucking on their own tails.

and people some people wonder why i’m bitter…

if i’m being too cynical, i can at least acknowledge the little victories: i succeeded in reading 16 of the 18 books i ported to the shore and, god knows, they proved to be good choices one and all. i somehow managed to stop smoking without killing anyone or without gaining so much weight that i’m unrecognizable. and sun-worshipping i got very very brown-skinned and even blonde-haired, providing me the physical pretense at least to think hard’n’fast about life, love n the legends that both leave in their wake.

more to come in upcoming episodes, for now no regrets save a few moments when looking at a huge red moon glimmering across the sea i wondered how a certain someone would have felt and wondered if he’d have kissed me then just for the sheer joy of doing something so improbable and unexpected.

of course he wouldn’t. of course he couldn’t.

now books to nourish the soul: aforementioned severo sanduy, wow, revelation city, incredibly beautiful and dense prose that made my blood feel suddenly more viscous in my veins, but viscous rich, viscous full, viscous pulsing with meaning and with love. first book in a very long time that i’ve had to read again immediately upon finishing it. and then best o the best, perhaps the stories of patrick mcgrath, a whole word of wonder that sent me reeling to realize that there are still people to whom elegance is something utterly intuitive. only the very most beautiful boys have made my skin crawl as abjectly.

more books: the monk was a fantastical dream out of some other epoch, made all the more wonderful by the fact that it made no sense whatsoever to our own. and then there was jeffrey eugenides’ middlesex, a kind of revenge on everyone and anyone who isn’t greek, that is, a way of laughing at people who just can’t and won’t get it and shouldn’t, especially in another language.

all of this is to say i love to read and, holidays notwithstanding, i’m gwan read lots more than i have in the past. came back to hot, humid, hideously sweltering roma with the sense that i’ve learned more than i thought i should or could, meaning i’m taking it easier than in the past, meaning i’m going to read more, think more, feel more, work and worry less.

if that’s what vacations mean, then i want to be on a permanent one.

No Comments

No comments yet.

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI

Leave a comment