Pieces and Neuvoe

There's a place for writing in the strangest places. It might be naive to believe that a place has a special power over you. But when you're in a well-manicured park, watching people walk by, it's hard to believe that. And my hair is soft, and the coffee in my mouth is sour, and the new traveler from another country unpacked in a corner of a tall hotel today, and I want to put off brushing my teeth today for some reason, and the lecture was long and boring, and the shopping arrived today, and the song in my ears makes my lighter load considerably lighter and my special human being even more special.  And so I am somehow proud of myself for going to pray at the Calculation Cathedral. 

 After creating a day to force himself to play the violin, Boram was able to savor his parfait a little more deeply.  He had spent so much time consuming himself with the opinions of others. Perhaps we spend too much of our lives trying to fit in, and it was a surprise to her to spend part of her weekend in the cold wind, chirping birds, and the emptiness of falling petals. The time spent on behalf of others is beginning to empty; they are increasingly filled with unapproachable boundaries, and the back of a middle-aged man, with perfumed incense breathing through his veins, turning away from the railroad tracks, is painted on the canvas. They will play again what has been played. Once you know how to do something, it's easy to do it again. That's what makes it so inviting, a stuffed shadow in a canvas of poverty.

The streets are a little chilly, no dogs roam, and the sun is warm. I realize I'm in a small town, and I'm gazing at a novel I've written with difficulty, and I'm trying to find some decent art on the radio. In a cafe, where it seems hard to find anything to do, a song is playing and I'm savoring this elusive luxury. I write slowly about words, and very lazily about the things I have to do today. I realize later that luxury is something you have to force yourself to find. I realize that it's slower to listen to nothing than music.  I have an iced Einsteiner from takeout in my hand and a neighborhood full of young foreigners walking by.