highly resorting

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Recent years in the U.S. cause me to want “inner emigration.”

I know many minds feel similarly about these times, as if the soul of their genius destined them to commune privately with kindreds within their highlands becoming internetted around the planet.

Cohering nets of creative estate have been around since leisure allowed one
to flourish in happy interplay, historically becoming estated and distributed colonies of high mindfulness, now The University as planetary form of life, altogether a singularity of universCity resorting around global metropolia.

notes going on: textures

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A figurative theme (sprout) presented without explication may be an invitation for thinking together in those terms, as well as being a record of what calls
for future exploration—together?

“Well, at least he’s together with his own path marks for later dwelling.
Thanks for sharing!”

touring resorts

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The wealth of the literary market is too much to take in.

Today, I browsed the new book ads in the “Spring Books” special issue of the New York Review of Books. I’m a subscriber for decades, now having six unwandered back issues.

I’ll catch up now by one a day. (Also, I have six back issues of the London Revew of Books to wander.)

I’m nearly overwhelmed by the diversity of scholarly books which evidently have a market? How can so much specialist non-fiction (and fiction) find enough audience to be feasible for the publishers?

the lover

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When Terese gave me a copy of Duras’s The Lover to read ASAP, we were to soon “discuss” it at a café in the Castro (by her invitation) while her almost-husband Will was out of town (which his job required regularly, and Terese welcomed. They lived across the bay from S.F.: east of Berkeley).

I didn’t tell her I already owned a copy, though I hadn’t read it.

The sexual scenes are appealing, of course. But I flagged pages which were especially about the difficulties of Indochinese life. “You” hear about the sexuality of the book, but it’s really about a teen girl’s witness of colonial poverty exploited by wealthy colonialists.

That was fascinating. That’s what I wanted to praise and discuss: Duras’s writing. Duras was using the sexual story to bait awareness of colonial tragedy.

Time gives gravity to prettiness where beauty emerges

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Airy living, 15 years ago, “soothing W. H. Auden,” about extra-ordinary life.

That page hasn't been public. It was done for a beloved friend, Terese, whose eidetic memory penned Auden's "Musée des Beaux Arts" perfectly for me during a lunch.