far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Monday, August 10, 2009

Last Wednesday: walking out of a building in a small Vermont town. Evening, around 8:30 -- twilight, darkness gradually taking over from daylight. Directly ahead of me, a narrow one-lane road extended away, trees on either side. In the bit of open sky above the road, the moon rose slowly. Hanging low above distant hills, big and fat. Butter-colored, glowing brightly, the features on its face drawn so clearly right then, looking like illustrations of the man in the moon that I remember from children's books growing up -- smiling this night, angled to one side, gazing benignly down at this blue planet.

The next night: me returning to my squat late, darkness long fallen. Parked the car, stepped out to find the night air tangy with the faint smell of skunk. Faint but inescapable, present everywhere I went, both outdoors and in. Persistent enough that I could smell it on waking in the early hours. Next morning, finally, the odor had faded away. (Hallelujah.)

The following day, walking downtown in the morning, sunshine pouring down, a beautiful summer day taking shape. A short male approached from the opposite direction. Looking to be in his late ‘50's, dressed in work clothes, wearing a baseball style cap, brim pulled down, face angled down and away from me. A cigarette held in one hand left a trail of smoke. As he pulled even with me, he burst into a thunderous smoker's cough, a genuine window-rattler -- the kind of explosive sound that could spill water from glasses resting quietly on a table. Left me glad my current life doesn't include shared time in a living or work space with that kind of soundtrack.

Saturday evening, I pulled on work clothes, grabbed a broom, went out to tackle something I've been avoiding: sweeping out the the years' worth of accumulated dirt, dust and debris from the old garage space that came with my current squat. Raised thick clouds of dust that filled the space and billowed out the door, forcing me to step outside for fresh air every now and then. Had to go through the process three times, concrete floor slowly emerging as layers of filth were swept away. When I'd finished, the hairs on my arms were blond with dust, my workboots filmed with it, wiping at clothes raised further clouds. Need to round up a shop-vac from somewhere and finish the process once my lungs have recovered.

Yesterday morning, I stuffed luggage and laptop into car, followed the highway north across the border, back to Montreal, where I've got a small but comfy studio flat rented for the next two months. Once again, up at the top of a high-rise, windows looking out to the west, the city stretching away. Not luxurious, but comfy.

Dragged luggage from car into building, into elevator, up 23 floors (well, 22 -- the building has no 13th floor; superstitious gits) and into my temporary squat. Pulled on a change of clothes, threw myself into the Metro, made the ride out to meet a friend at a café. Ate good food, drank good high-test, relaxed, blabbed until the joint closed, employees cleaning up around us.

My idea of a good time.

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

Extremely funky used clothing boutique along Boul. Ste-Laurent, Montreal:




España, te echo de menos

rws 2:27 PM [+]

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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
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
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
August 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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