At this very moment... I want to go find a quiet place and start writing. I want to write a piece of contemporary fiction, right now. The kind of fiction with self-serious titles that allude to foreign art or are in another language or are some oblique phrase that can only be connected to the book's subject through elaborate etymological yoga. The kind of novels that have those matte paper covers with the obtusely "artistic" photos that refuse to reveal the exact nature of the object being photographed. I want to write that. Like, now. I don't know if I can really convey to you the sudden urgency with which this feeling has just struck me. I don't have the slightest idea what I would be writing, but I want to do so. Now. Right now. Darn that New York Books website. (Side-note: I wonder if I go to Barnes and Noble from time to time simply to recover a glancing feeling of being "literary," without needing to do all the gruntwork. There's probably a post somewhere in that.)
This morning... I ate a buttery miniature croissant half-filled with cheesy scrambled egg, and I thought of those tasty little breakfasts I've eaten in airports (those times when I was on the company's dime and could afford to splurge on my meal). Though, each point of the croissant had that peculiar over-done staleness of the kind of baked good one would actually be served on an airplane. I don't know how else to describe it.
This video... suddenly makes me want to sit on a porchswing, in the bright grey overcastness of January, wearing a dark and warm-wearing sweater, as the biting wind whips through my somewhat lengthier hair. I would sit, rocking back and forth, my arm around the woman I love who would be nuzzling into my shoulder to hide her face from the cold of the world. And somehow, the whole scene in my mind feels so breathtaking and melancholy at the same time, as if just before that moment, we had received some great disappointment that left us numb, and the only response we could muster was simply to sit and rock back and forth and endure the cold. (Side-note: I can't watch or listen to that video only once. I usually have to play it four or five times, trying desperately to warm my hands with its elusive emotional warmth. It's been a little while since I've felt anything as intensely as the singer seems to.)