And Above All Else: Sissy That Walk

I don't know much about Roddy Doyle, but I've been reading him.  Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, to be exact. I am enjoying the simplicity and obviousness of his writing. It is something I've been needing, lately.   Here is a group of three sentences that I've enjoyed by him:

We were coming down our road.  Kevin stopped at a gate and bashed it with his stick.  It was Missis Quigley's gate; she was always looking out the window but she never did anything.

In any case, this afternoon, after a long yet strangely productive day in the sun by the water with a particular bikini-and-cowboy-hatted lad, I found a copy of Genet's Querelle, one of the few books of his I have yet to read. (To the right, an incredible blending of St. Sebastian mixed with the heavy hand of Genet's Querelle. Pun, indeed, intended.)

(pause)

Other than that, I've been a bit contemplative and generally internal as of late. This may come with working overnights (as I type this, I am attempting to keep myself awake until 6a). It may also come with the reconnection, disconnection, and overall curious beauty of life that has been falling like unceremonious confetti  as of late.  In the blur of its color splayed winter, one has little choice but to wonder in the face of its skies.


Be well; be loved

-k.


Theme song for the past two weeks, roughly:

People talkin since the beginning of time...