Fenway Park. The stadium was lit like the Pantheon, like Apollo's eye-annihilating home, a gods-piloted oracle seen by Ezra Pound when he was in his cage detained by American GI's, bright lights to deprive him of sleep at night. A dog chasing its tail in the agitation of its prophecy.

Light into the olive entered ( Read more... )

It has been increasingly harder for me to update. Updating should be called downdating when you sink back into the events and minutes to recap. To retell anything is a retrograde act, after the clock has stopped and everything been retraced in the slipstreams of memories. Writing gives time its closure but the butterfly can only be freshly mounted ( Read more... )

Summer-like weather. The first blush of white blossoms are out. More will follow, and, immortalized by Robert Lowell in Man and Wife, magnolias. Spring is spreading out like confetti and contrails, when the streets grow suicidally beautiful, and summer will set itself down on the balconies and bed sheets with enough heat and humidity to desecrate ( Read more... )

Whenever I’ve lost it, as lost it as lost it can be, just short of the motorized blade performing the autopsy, it came back, as if by some unfathomable, unnegotiable design. This time it’s a book review on the NY Times website. The book reviewed is Late for Work, a collection of poems by David Tucker, the editor of the Metro section of the Star ( Read more... )

I attended the Ken Wilber discussion group for the second time, again at Peter's urge. This time the meeting was held at a yoga center. We watched Ken Wilber's talk on DVD, followed by Q&A, mediated by the organizers. We ordered Japanese food. I kept quiet, as usual. If Ken Wilber had caught me 5 years ago, I would have been much more inclined to ( Read more... )

( 3-frame whodunit )

I am beat, listening and talking to other people is the most tiresome thing, especially people with demanding passions. I spent an hour and half on the phone with Mike and he could have gone on for another hour and half if I hadn't interrupted him, first subtly and then not so subtly. At the end I was more embarrassed than he was by cutting it ( Read more... )

Or - we now approach one of the most subtle and urgent suggestions of The Real Life of Sebastian Knight - what is real is the life we lead when we lose ourselves, when we abandon or are driven from the rational fiction of our identity; when we fall in love, for example, and especially when we fall deeply, hopelessly, brutally, stupidly in love. ( Read more... )

I. FIAT HOMO ( Read more... )

I am going to post something mindless for a change. I need it. I am going to list some of the bars and lounges I have been to in Boston and known sufficiently well. Sample pictures are attached ( Read more... )