The Unseen Movers
Kurogo
Gods
Dressage
Whisper at the royal ear
Stage prompter
Pre-conscious decisions

Earwax Bulletin Board

Bulletin boards always give info in a way you can only see there and then. Whenever I'm away from home I try to see those things you can only see there, like bulletin boards.
Earwax is hard to shoot because of the jail bars facing them.

High season, the very white, disinvoltura

I love living in a Chicago neighborhood where all the signs are in Spanish and most also have English. I love learning how to sound respectful though stupid in Spanish. When I find myself checking out at Trader Joe's and trying to remember how to say, "That's okay, thank you, I've got my own bag," in Spanish, I feel a little more worldly.
But, goodness gracious, what a relaxing feeling to be back in New England for a few days last week, and not have to think about that. I was watching my first polo match in Newport, RI, and I realized that I didn't have to worry about taking the right tone or being misunderstood by the subduedly rowdy, extremely white people on either side of our little bivouac. Castiglione is the model here. You don't have to worry that effete will be mistaken for effeminate. Disinvoltura, not machismo.

One of my favorite alternate universes is the one spun by my dear friend John Yohalem. Ruritania, evolving beyond Hope, slowly recovering from a soviet interlude, is still a chiaroscuro of intrigue and welzschmertz. Cultured, whiny, not rich enough to live up to its past, not egalitarian enough to join the EU, it's a good location for trysts and tristesse. (John goes for the trysts; I'm more the fan of bittersweetness and reimagined golden ages.)
I would visit there with John if it didn't put such a smudge on my passport. The visa stamps used to have gold dust in them. Now it's just cheap brown ink and some kind of yellow pot metal.
Still, Strelsau in the spring...sigh.
John, maybe you could just write me into a little afternoon in a cafe with a view of the Five Young Lions of the Revolution monument, a short walk from the opera house. Something light on the bills, please. Ruritanian Fruchtcremen and operettas have spoiled me for that heavy german stuff they used to favor. And soon, while we can still afford it, the american coins becoming endangered specie, as it is.

Mnemosene, like so many selfish older women, has used fertility treatments, and, quelle surprise, had a multiple birth -- nonets. They have some of the birth challenges one gets with these fertility babies, but she's finding them work in the family business. She calls them the B Muses and it looks like they get slim pickings compared to their older sisters:

Jukebox musicals
Scrapbooking
Tats
Investment advice
Reggaeton
Butoh
Radiant Arts: video, neon, fire
Patriotic Country music
IM-ing

My sweetheart is back from Montreal!
It was a dreamy visit and I think she's got a little civic/social crush on the place. She had art adventures, worldly and interesting company, and poutine. I'm going back with her next time and try out my wretched french with my downmarket languedoc accent. Should be hilarious to the natives, who already suffer on account of their language.

She was doing experimental clay carving and strategizing about big public projects with some of her fabricators. Evenings were for philosophy and gauloises. Just kidding. They did chat a lot, but they also saw the finalists in an international fireworks competition, in between wonderful meals. Did I mention poutine?

High summer in the backyard, turned back to prairie.