far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Tuesday, April 15, 2008

If I were forced to describe the recent state of this life of mine, I would have to say: not so much a soothing garden party as a jaunt in a burning plane piloted by some head case on acid. Strange, hair-raising twists and turns. Big emotions. With the details of the daily ride designed to cause unrest.

On the other hand, after several days of rain -- spring replaced by a cooler, less user-friendly imposter -- Saturday brought sweet, abundant sunlight and a general lifting of spirits, a state that's remained in place since then. Which I appreciate the hell out of, let me tell you.

Have been slowly working my way through what needs to be done to put my life here on hold for now, wading through it all at an unhurried pace, trusting that I've started far enough ahead of time that the last-minute frenzy will be blessedly light on the frenzy part, or at least not so frenzied that needle on the stress meter slides up into the meatiest part of the red zone.

Several weeks back, the rehab work that's been making its way through -- and literally rebuilding sections of -- this old building for the last 3.6587 years started on a new phase, laborers showing up every morning and working away on external details of the first couple of floors. After a month or so that crew disappeared, producing a brief period of tranquility that ended last Thursday when a different bunch materialized in the hallway outside this flat. Three males with hammers -- partying wildly as they pounding away at ceiling and walls, removing plaster. Producing a massive sea of plaster chips along with clouds of slowly-swirling white dust. For the first day or two, they didn't bother to cloak stairwell or apartment doors, producing an ongoing cascade of white bits, giving the stairwell a stylishly impressive post-earthquake look from this level all the way down to the foyer.

I did not get the entire picture of what the hubbub would mean until I opened the door of the flat to find my welcome mat buried under two or three inches of plaster, chips pushing aggressively into every crack along the bottom of the door. Then glanced back into the flat and realized that dust had been insinuating its way in around the door, saw my footsteps in the pale sheen of powder coating the floor, saw that the bottom of my socks had turned ghostly white. Brief time-out for clean-up, stuffing sheets along door bottom, closing all in-flat doors to minimize dust flow. And even with that, dust sneaks quietly into the living space, turning horizontal surfaces and sock bottoms pallid.

The workers inch their way along -- now on the floor below this one, for which I give sincere thanks -- partying away in the middle of the dust, free of cumbersome protective details like breathing masks, calling back and forth in high-speed Spanish, the youngest of them laughing like a hyena.

Spent some time talking with a friend about all that, about strange endgame happenings with my good-hearted landlords -- an account of which I swear I will provide someday -- about this strange passage of what passes for my life. And when, post-caffeine boost, we'd paid up and stepped out into the cool springtime air of Madrid, we stood talking more, and at some point I noticed a small face staring up at me from the sidewalk. A passport-photo-sized portrait dropped by an unknown individual, its subject gazing skyward -- at me, at my friend, at the legs of anyone walking by. Hair receding and weirdly cut, looking tired, not exactly overjoyed and a touch lost amid the noise and motion of the 3-D world.

There may be a metaphor in there somewhere, but I'm going to spare us all the pain of me digging for it.

Later.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He is Bonzi!


Espaņa, te quiero

rws 11:15 AM [+]

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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
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January 2005
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October 2005
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June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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