Halfway
Jesus, how quickly time slips by. In the past week I've been focused on a short story revision, finishing my freelance gig, reading Murakami and a bit of Kawabata. It's amazing how much time one can spend on a single task. I don't know whether to be heartened or discouraged.
Made it into Hudson on a brief Sunday jaunt. T. and I ate a bit of pot cookie, browsed the book store, had draft beer and snacks mid-afternoon, then picked up booze for the house. Our little ecosystem pretty much exploded this past weekend, actually, going from eight or nine people to twice that number, thanks to the magnanimity of this program/our benefactor. The social dynamics of this place are constantly changing and somewhat inscrutable. What can you do.
Amid all this, I'm trying to write across as many platforms as possible. Walking through the sculpture park is a nice refresher always. We made our way up to The Spaceship again the other night and heard a few more ghost stories, two of which were quite unsettling. Yesterday after dinner, a few of us watched a 1988 Dutch horror film called The Vanishing.
Strange thoughts have been passing through my mind, particularly in the evening when all is solemn and silent. Last night a baleful wind wrapped around this place, three houses on a hill. I found myself thinking of volatile ex-lovers, long past any hope of redemption, wallowing in self-made ruins and, at some point, aspiring to take me down with them. It recalled something from the Murakami novel. What if there truly is an evil spirit haunting these men, one that destroys their capacity for loving, for goodness? Not that this absolves them of responsibility. But it would certainly make a lot of sense, in my book. Or maybe I just prefer to think that calamity is beyond anyone's control, that selfishness and cruelty are not qualities innate to any person.
Made it into Hudson on a brief Sunday jaunt. T. and I ate a bit of pot cookie, browsed the book store, had draft beer and snacks mid-afternoon, then picked up booze for the house. Our little ecosystem pretty much exploded this past weekend, actually, going from eight or nine people to twice that number, thanks to the magnanimity of this program/our benefactor. The social dynamics of this place are constantly changing and somewhat inscrutable. What can you do.
Amid all this, I'm trying to write across as many platforms as possible. Walking through the sculpture park is a nice refresher always. We made our way up to The Spaceship again the other night and heard a few more ghost stories, two of which were quite unsettling. Yesterday after dinner, a few of us watched a 1988 Dutch horror film called The Vanishing.
Strange thoughts have been passing through my mind, particularly in the evening when all is solemn and silent. Last night a baleful wind wrapped around this place, three houses on a hill. I found myself thinking of volatile ex-lovers, long past any hope of redemption, wallowing in self-made ruins and, at some point, aspiring to take me down with them. It recalled something from the Murakami novel. What if there truly is an evil spirit haunting these men, one that destroys their capacity for loving, for goodness? Not that this absolves them of responsibility. But it would certainly make a lot of sense, in my book. Or maybe I just prefer to think that calamity is beyond anyone's control, that selfishness and cruelty are not qualities innate to any person.