“To sit alone or with a few friends, half-drunk under a full moon, you just understand how lucky you are; it’s a story you can’t tell. It’s a story you almost by definition, can’t share. I’ve learned in real time to look at those things and realize: I just had a really good moment.”
— Anthony Bourdain, In his Final Interview
What a great photo and wonderful sentiment. Interesting how so many people in their comments objected to the “half drunk,” feeling that something was lost due to the alcohol consumption. I took the time to explain that there are so many things to be drunk on besides alcohol. The wine of the Universe, or Rumi’s drunk on Spirit (and he was always drunk) as examples.
The Irish soda bread is back! I overindulged and ended with a lump for a stomach.
I got pink chopsticks at China Wok to use with my fried rice. They are wonderful.
It snowed. Today it is winter when it has been spring for a week with temperatures in the high 60s. And the birds were carrying on while the old folks had opened their windows. It’s rather fun…spring…winter…spring…winter. Nothing is permanent.
And why, so many people wonder, did Bourdain kill himself? Because it never leaves, that blackness that travels underneath. Always it comes back to that. No matter where you go or what distraction occupies you, sooner or later, it calls. That thud. The landing. And you feel it surround you and you are alone with it. That black anchored pull. Sometimes you just can’t fight your way out.
I wonder if as many people understand that as do not. Maybe as many as those who get drunk on the Universe. Maybe as many as those who dance with Spirit.
How beautiful it is to find someone who asks for nothing but your company. — with Louise Menta
I’m thinking this is a photo created from the book: The Reader, which I believe was also made into a movie. If it isn’t from that, it certainly captures the intent. I’ve tried bathing and reading myself, when I had a large and deep soaking tub. It had one of those wonderful containers that goes side to side across the tub, so that bath needements could be held therein. I propped a book there, filled the tub with lovely bubble bath, and got a glass of red wine in a crystal wine glass.
I got water splashed on the book, kept sliding down into the tub, and the water turned cold, quickly. And I’ll never know if this is a skill that should be practiced or if the magazine photos are pure propaganda. Nonetheless, the photo is exquisite.
We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves.
Posted by Lit Hub
The English Patient at 25
ON THE 25TH ANNIVERSARY OF ITS PUBLICATION, WE LOOK BACK ON SOME OF THE FIRST REVIEWS OF
MICHAEL ONDAATJE’S BOOK PRIZE-WINNING WWII EPIC
The LitHub has a lovely article about the book. It’s direct quotes from the original reviews and worth a look. It has made me want to read it, and I missed it the first time around. Actually that happens with me a lot. Somewhere inside of me lies hidden the critic who says, “Let’s just wait a while and see how this holds up.” Especially if there’s a movie associated with it. Never trust the movie, I say!
Having returned to Frankfurt from Leipzig University in 1768, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe began studying the alchemical writings of Paracelsus and Basil Valentine and performing experiments in his own laboratory. The poet, statesman, playwright, novelist, and scientist began his masterwork Faust around 1771, publishing Faust: A Fragment in 1790 and Faust: Part One eighteen years after that.
We have a book of Goethe’s poetry here. It’s in the TBR pile, where it is likely to remain for the rest of my life at the least. Although I do reference it upon occasion, flipping through it to find something of interest. That is done in an easy frame of mind. Not the mad passionate one of the search for the perfect—in a book where you know it will be.