Autumn arrived like a brick wall, but I’m getting adjusted. The waning light and cold keep you on your toes, but then, there is also the beautiful slanting light in the trees, the snow on the mountains and the feeling that like a heavy fruit, the only thing left to do in the year is to ripen whatever has taken seed inside. I’ve become quite insular lately, reading several books at a time, tending my plants, seeing people only when I have to. Except the kids I work with; I always enjoy seeing them.
Today, I was out in Meylan, the town about a half hour from Grenoble by bus. I could take off my mask there, and it was a pleasure to walk in the empty streets and park with the sunshine on my whole face. I saw two squirrels in the park; the ducks and horses were absent, only the carp gliding just under the surface of the pond. The photo is of an Oriental plane tree with ivy growing up it like some kind of writing.
It reminded me of a phrase I read this morning from a book of aphorisms called ‘About the Roots of Vegetables’ by Hong Zicheng:
‘The songs of birds and insects transmit without words the law of the universe.
The colours of flowers and leaves teach without writing, the reality of the world.’
Last week, I woke up in the middle of the night and read two poems by Wallace Stevens I particularly like: ‘Sea Surface Full of Clouds’ and ‘Death of a Soldier.’ I fell back asleep peacefully after that.
I keep showing my mother photos of her parents every zoom Tuesday, scrutinizing her face every time to catch some brief light of recognition- it’s still there, magically. She suddenly smiles and mouths the word ‘mother’ in Japanese, or ‘father’. Then she looks reflective – who knows what memories salvaged from the cloud in her brain rise up by tiny shreds like starlight in the major darkness of her present brain. Ironically, the people who she sees every day are more real to her than we are: we see that they can make her laugh or wince or talk back, whereas our faces on the screen only make her ponder. The monitor tries to get her to put the earphones in every week, but she always refuses, swatting away the thing with a laugh, as if he were putting a clown hat on her. We talk to her, even if she can’t hear us. Why not. She doesn’t know I’m her daughter anymore: the notion of relation is groggy at best, but she still recognizes my face and those of my brothers. She probably recognizes the insistance with which we regard her more than anything else.
Your ‘penis masks’ made me laugh. It’s so you. Honni soit qui mal y pense. I wonder who’s wearing those penis and vulva masks? No, I don’t want to know.
Cheap sardines are good for you, by the way. I had to get that in there, you’ll be saying, there goes Elena again with her dietary advice. But I guess you’d be the first to make allowances for having obsessions. At the moment, mine, besides the usual food thing, is my jungle. It’s like I should have been a farmer or something. I spend hours just looking at new leaves curling out or the last scented nasturtium flower of the year, broccoli and alfalfa sprouts, the gingko and paulownia saplings, a tiny tomato, all the chili peppers. I could probably spend my whole day pottering around among plants quite happily, thinking of nothing else. My mother was noted in every neighbourhood we lived in for her flower gardens- people would actually slow down and take photos while driving past. My grandfather in Japan had his medicinal garden- I’m not as good as them, but the obsession is there.
I probably wouldn’t like pork brains. I have nothing against cholesterol- it isn’t as bad for you as sugar can be, but still, I’m not much for organ meats. The other day, I got some beef shinbones and made bone broth from that. The French eat the marrow with rock salt; it’s delicious.
I have never met any orthodox Jews. They must be quite discreet here as well. It is weird to think that there are people who refuse to acknowledge your existence as a human being, just because of an idea in their heads.
De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
Envoyé : mercredi 30 septembre 2020 21:39
À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
At the grocery store the other night I heard the cashier say to me: “I
love your penis masks.”
Startled, I asked myself “What the hell is on my face?”
I quickly realized the mask the cashier wore had muffled her words. She,
of course, said “Peanuts masks,” and went on to say how she’d noticed
every time she sees me in the store I’m “wearing a different penis mask.”
It still sounded like she was saying that. I might have made a snarky
comment but she looked like she was 16…
I replied that I was happy she liked them, clumsily adding something about
wearing a Schroeder mask because I’m a penist… I mean pianist.
I left the store asking a question to which I didn’t really need an
answer: Do penis facemasks exist?
Of course they do. A quick search at mask central, Etsy, turned up 1,400
results for penis masks versus only 400 for Peanuts. There is also a vulva
mask, and a bunch of vagina masks. The anus, breasts, and testicles do
not represent much in the facemask market.
Not a single result for “payphone facemask” at Etsy but FineArtAmerica, of
all outlets, has a few. None look like anything I’d want to wear.
Reminded me of the PENISY place we talked about a long time ago. How can
there be something PENISY about a place?
I turned off most of the noisemakers here, most notably the
Honeywell air filter, and have rediscovered the ecosystem of tiny noises
that inhabit this place. At times I hear someone trying to unlock the
front door. Other times I hear someone being murdered across the street.
Sobriety brings with it several defaults. I hear music everywhere. I get
sleep but feel skeptical about it. Hypnic jerks disrupt the slumber,
and sometimes make it feel like I am being electrocuted. I decided to get
back off the wagon, though, but I cut the amount I drink in half.
About the free food, I’ll be honest, I’m not in such dire straits that I
really needed it. I went through with it to see what I’d be in for if I
did get to that point. I don’t think I’m ready for a diet of ham and water
food product, or any foodstuff that has the word “product” in its name. I
might have binged on Vienna Sausages and cheap sardines back in the day
but I never sunk to the level of the “Potted Meat Food Product” often
found on the same shelves as the aforementioned.
I didn’t find the exact brand of this on the food website you mentioned
but I guess they’re all the same. Here’s a photo. I put it on the scale,
it said 12 pounds. Yikes. I don’t think it’s intended for individuals or
even families but for food service entities. I could see a supermarket
slicing it up into little cubes and mixing it with cubes of cheese or
whatever.
Probably the nastiest sounding food I ever encountered was Pork Brains,
which is basically 100% cholesterol. It’s still popular in the south but
to its redemption it is not meant to be eaten on its own but used as a
condiment. I never found it in these parts.
I’ve done some serious walking of late. I saw Cocaine Jane walk past the
other day, seen from here on this spot for what I think is the first time.
Crack Jack I’ve also seen around more than usual, but no Dowdy Dorothy of
late. I call these people The Team. I’ve come to assume that people see me
around and think me singular in the way I find the aforementioned. I
behave similarly, looking purposeful, like I have somewhere to go, when
most of the time my only destinations are the payphones.
When you said you had to move I thought it was something not entirely
under your control. Take your time, then.
Covid is back in NYC, with more new infections since June or July. They’re
blaming a lot of it on the Orthodox Jewish communities, which eschew masks
and vaccines. Three people from Bensonhurst only made it to a hospital
after they were too sick to be saved. These folks go to the Mayor’s press
conferences to protest the mask requirement, and I guess consider it their
privilege to die over it. I’ve been around those communities and they
really are conspicuously insular. They simply want no part of the outside
world. I used to work in a building that had a jewelry exchange on an
upper floor. I’d cross paths in the elevators a lot with the Orthodox Jews
who represent a significant part of the business. They would not so much
as look at anybody outside their spheres, almost as if others were not
even present. One dude, pacing nervously, walked right the fuck into me,
mumbling something but never acknowledging the encounter. Just weird.
On Fri, 25 Sep 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> It suddenly got cold today, I mean suddenly. The morning was still cool enough to go out in a
> light jacket; there were people at the Arab market with just t-shirts and even shorts, like we
> were wearing yesterday. The wind picked up at around two o’clock as I was chatting with Andréas
> at his shop. I made it home without getting soaked, but I was able to get a pailful of rainwater
> gushing off the roof to water my plants. Plants love rainwater. I would look ridiculous to
> people on the street if they were to look up and see me hold out a pail from my window on the
> third floor, but probably nobody would, at the risk of getting a ton of rain in their eyes, and
> they got better stuff to do, like getting out of the wet.
> I would have gone out again, but the sky got dark and it was so cold, I had to close all my
> windows for the first time since – maybe April? Spent the rest of the afternoon pottering over
> my plants, it’s getting to be a real craze. With the season changing, there’s a lot to do:
> repotting, replacing, planting winter species, trying to find some place to put everything that
> is out on the windowsill. Normally, it shouldn’t be a problem until the end of November, when it
> might start to freeze. But you never know. I think I’ve told you Grenoble is an incredibly
> fickle city when it comes to temperatures.
> As I’m typing this, it’s 9°C, with the windows closed, which seems weird. My cat huddles at the
> back of the chair and I’ve had to put on a sweater. It’s supposed to get hot again next weekend,
> so I’m treating this as a novelty.
> The moving thing has kind of slipped my mind. I’m filling out this application for low-income
> housing, but it’s taking me forever to do it, like most disagreeable paperwork. I suppose, now
> that autumn is here, that I might as well wait until next year before moving. I can’t imagine
> doing the million things necessary for a move in the most contemplative and cozy months of the
> year. Nah. Would be a terrible shock for all my plants, too.
> Getting free food is not shameful at all, in my books. You probably have guessed this, if I’m
> the only person you’ve told this to. But in France generally, people have no qualms about
> getting anything free, if they can. The mentality must be quite different from the U.S. For one
> thing, the work ethic doesn’t exist here – the French don’t live to work; they do it as a
> necessary evil, which is why they are notorious for being cantankerous on the job and cheerful
> and friendly outside working hours.
> When i was a kid, we got a lot of free food, since the fishermen would often pay my dad for any
> extra work he did, like fixing their nets late in the evening so they could go out again the
> next morning – with fish, or crabs or shrimp. I don’t think we ever paid for any of the seafood
> which sustained our family meals, either it was given to us or we went out to catch or find it.
> I just finished reading a book called ‘Grave of the Fireflies’ by Akiyuki Nosaka, which was made
> into the better-known animation film, which you might have seen. I saw the film before reading
> the book, which is much blacker, almost nihilistic. It’s about children starving to death at the
> end of WWII in Japan. When I saw the film, I didn’t realize that my father had lived through
> much the same thing, except that he and his sister, my aunt Yoko, were saved from starvation .
> He never talked about those days. My aunt told me much later, well after the death of my father.
> It’s possible that the rare disease that killed him might have had its origin in the extreme
> deprivation he suffered between the age of 12 and 13, who knows. My aunt said that he was thin
> to start with, and looked like a skeleton by the end of the war.
> When you told me what was in the food bag, the first thing I thought was, at least he’s eating
> something healthy, for once after all those cheeseburgers and pizzas. Turkey, apple, carrots,
> good stuff, chocolate too. The spoon was probably for spreading the mayo and mustard onto the
> turkey in the sandwich? That’s what I would have done, although a knife might have worked
> better. Unless they thought you might take it home to make a turkey, apple and carrot soup.
> Which might not be so bad. That ‘ham and water product’ sounds horrible, though. Did you eat it
> and survive? I looked it up just now; the open food facts site tells us that it scores E on a
> scale from A to F as far as nutritional value goes; it’s way too salty and has a bunch of
> additives, of which sodium nitrite is ringing red alarm bells. In any case, I’m wondering who
> thought up that name? Ham and Water Product must be one of the least appetizing titles for food
> I’ve heard in a long time.
>
> Photos: okay, it’s not 19181, but I thought 18181 was a good double 181, plus it was about free
> food. Photo 2 is from the film Chungking Express, I don’t remember sending it to you, though I
> may have. I saw another payphone in a movie I saw yesterday – ‘Call Me By Your Name’ but
> couldn’t catch the scene to get the photo. I detested the film enough not to go back and view
> again just to find the payphone, sorry. Elitist crap about the coming of age of a spoiled gay
> kid in an Italian country house.
>
> Your last phrase made me think of a text written by the 13th century Zen monk, Dogen. ‘Uji’ in
> Japanese, translated as ‘I am Time.’ If you’re so deadset on wasting your time or yourself, I
> hope you get around to doing that on the piano, is what I concluded. With the Schroeder mask.
> Meanwhile, I will figure out a turkey and apple recipe. To each his own.
>
>
>
>
>
>
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________
> De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> Envoyé : mercredi 23 septembre 2020 05:30
> À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> I got my first ever free food last week. It was a turkey sandwich, an
> apple, chocolate milk, a bag of carrots, packets of mustard and
> mayonnaise and, for some reason, a plastic spoon. Oh, and a napkin. The
> spoon mystified me but I’m not letting it bother me, but still, what the
> hell was I supposed to use it for given the other contents of the bag?
>
> An irony did not pass me by. To make room for the free sandwich in my bag
> I had to move the $900 cell phone out of the way. Poverty meets
> prosperity, though the phone is paid for and I cut the monthly bill in ½.
> But it reminded me of piece, I think in the Times, by a woman who had to
> report in person to obtain certain government benefits, and she drove in
> her Mercedes, which she got when, obviously, money was better. The car now
> was fully paid off and, as you know about Mercedes, it is among the
> cheapest cars to drive and maintain. But she got ridiculed at the food
> stamps place by other people who thought it arrogant and ridiculous that a
> Mercedes-driving woman was government assistance. That’s a little bit how
> I felt flashing an expensive phone while living off the dole.
>
> I’ve never lined up for any kind of government benefit but I did on
> Friday, and again today. I am on Medicaid but I don’t have any scruples
> about that, except that some people consider it a freeloading handout
> kinda thing, so I don’t talk about it publicly.
>
> The first place I went yesterday was city-funded. For the second one the
> food is donated, so it’s totally random what
> they give you. I got something kind of ridiculous. An enormous blob of
> something called “Buffet Ham and Water Product”. I can’t find a weight
> printed on it but it’s quite heavy and I had trouble getting it all home,
> as I also got a bag of potatoes and some apples. The “Ham and Water
> Product” reminds me of my days of eating Vienna Sausages and Kraft
> Macaroni and Cheese, and liking it. But I don’t know what I’m going to do
> with this monster blob of food. I didn’t think of this going in but I
> guess a lot of the food people donate to these places is the shit they
> didn’t want.
>
> The city-funded place asked for no name or iD or anything, no questions
> asked. The second place asked for name and zip code. I lied. My
> free food name is Terry Alexander. I live down the street, at 34-50. I
> don’t know him but he appears to be a real person, listed in a reliable
> phone book type directory. I might write him a letter, anonymously,
> thanking him for use of his name, with apologies for any trouble it might
> have caused him. With only a name and a zip code it’s hard to think of a
> scenario that would cause problems, or for anyone to contact him. I lie
> about this because I they put the names into an iPad and I know how
> easily that could get compromised.
>
> You are the only person in my life to whom I would tell
> something like this. There’s just too much of a stigma attached to this
> kind of thing, among my peers, at least by my perception, which may be
> warped.
>
> We have to wear masks when social distancing is not possible, but tell
> that to the mobs of people eating outside within close quarters, maskless
> and laughing and spewing germs on high. Same scenario you described,
> makes no sense, but here there is no enforcement to speak of in ordering
> individuals to wear masks, at last not that I know of. Instead they shut
> down and fine the bar if not enough people are distancing, etc. But I
> don’t think they’re ticketing individuals, like you say they do there.
>
> I’ve still been getting the shakes but it’s better today after 3 panic
> pills and a blood pressure pill. But that means I can’t drink, which is
> never as big a deal as I think it’s going to be. But this round of shakes
> was enough to make typing anything a very difficult project. Amazing how
> well the pills work. The anxiety is caused by alcohol withdrawal, which
> most people think happens weeks and months after you quit but it can kick
> off any time of the day because your body gets so used to the quantity of
> alcohol that it just wants more. This is how people end up drinking all
> day every day, to calm the shakes, which is what I did yesterday. My aunt
> would drink morning noon and night.
>
> I never would have guessed the Tour de France is not hugely popular there.
> So why have it? The Marathon here remains popular but the way it disrupts
> the roads makes everybody crazy. My ex used to work on those races, which
> were a monstrously huge undertaking.
>
> The cellist could be hot. I’ve never been good at guessing what men look
> like to women. My mancrush has been Roy Scheider. I’ve never made up my
> mind about live performances at cemeteries. I’ve never been to one, but I
> saw a poster for one of the oddest concert events ever. I think it was a
> classical pianist and a clarinetist doing covers of Beatles songs at St.
> Michael’s near here. Just a strange concept for a cemetery. They also do
> an annual concert for Scott Joplin, but that makes sense since he’s
> buried there. I’ve never heard of Calvary doing anything like that,
> though the weekly mass might have some music.
>
> I like the way my Schroeder mask in particular makes people smile, and ask
> to take pictures. I have not found another such Schroeder-only mask, and
> it might be a one-off, one of a kind. It’s also a good quality mask. The
> other cutesie ones are not useless but not as effective as others.
>
> I happened to log into my Fios account today just as a countdown time
> reached 1 DAY | 8 HOURS | 1 MINUTES | 19 SECONDS
> It looks better in the image. So I captured that in the one second
> opportunity that I had. From here I palindromized a bit and find there is
> a 19181 postal code in Philadelphia, and I have been there. It is where
> the Liberty Bell and other touristy stuff is.
>
> Are you still planning on moving?
>
> I feel boring but that’s just how it’s been here. Going to go to bed early
> tonight, or try to. Last time I didn’t drink I needed about 10 hours to
> get 6 hours sleep. But I woke up feeling better than usual. It’s just that
> I don’t really like waking up early and feeling good, it just gives me
> more time to waste.
>
>
> On Sat, 19 Sep 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
>
> > I wouldn’t say it’s quite back to normal over here; in fact, since we’ve been having a lot
> more
> > cases recently, we’re obliged to wear masks all the time in the city. Which is kind of a drag,
> > since there are a lot of places where you’re never in a crowd, or even in the presence of
> other
> > people, but if you get caught, you’ll get fined 135 euros, which is pretty hefty. Plus, it’s
> > still pretty hot- over 30°C every day this week. Although it’s supposed to go down over the
> > weekend.
> > You might say the perception of the virus has changed here, though. People may not be as
> scared
> > of catching it as in April or May, even if there are more official cases now than back then.
> > It’s because there are relatively few people hospitalized or dying. The rules are crazy,
> anyway.
> > You have to wear a mask in the street, where you’re not likely to catch anything while
> walking,
> > whereas you can take it off once you sit down at a restaurant or bar where there are people in
> > close proximity talking, laughing and coughing all they want. Kids under a certain age don’t
> > have to wear mask in transport, whereas researchers say that young kids are the most likely to
> > spread the virus. Ventilation is probably the most important factor in reducing the spread of
> > the virus in closed spaces, whereas lots of places have no fresh air, including my doctor’s
> > waiting room, which does have a window, but she keeps it closed.With the 30° heat, you see
> > air-conditioning with closed windows everywhere. Just shows you how illogical people can be.
> > More and more studies coming out revealing that vitamin D can prevent you from harmful
> outcomes
> > with the virus, but is any government or the world health organization pushing that?
> > I do respect the mask-wearing regulation, but I realized a little while ago, that I have yet
> to
> > actually buy a single mask. The first masks I used during the confinement were some that I
> found
> > in the closet, left over from Kenji’s spray-painting days. Then my Chinese friend sent me a
> > package of them. The government also sent me two packages of cotton masks; the school I work
> for
> > provides masks for working, then a friend of mine gave me a cotton print mask, the first
> pretty
> > one I’ve got, but I’ve yet to wear it. When it’s hot out like this, I find that the blue
> > surgical masks are the coolest, and don’t tickle your nose.
> >
> > I’m back at work since the beginning of September, going to kids’ places and the school, but
> > never seeing a lot of people at a time, since it’s mostly private lessons. Nice change from
> > skype. Although I had to skype last Wednesday because the Tour de France came through Grenoble
> > and the roads were closed. My youngest brother is a great fan of the Tour, and he asked me a
> > month ago to see if I could catch something for him as the Tour went through town. So I
> > dutifully went down to the start of the route, which is only a few blocks from my place,
> across
> > the park. There wasn’t a bandstand or tent set up this year, as there used to be, just people
> > lined up along the sectioned off road waiting for the caravans and cyclists to pass through.
> > People here are not as crazy about the Tour as you might think. There are probably more fans
> > outside of France than here. My Canadian friends and family all watch it with enthusiasm,
> > whereas I know nobody here who even goes down to see the cyclists go by. But I go, for my
> > brother. I’ve never caught anything, ever. Last time I went, two years ago, this old lady was
> in
> > front of me and caught all the stuff they were flinging off the caravans: caps, water bottles,
> > samples of this or that, key chains, what have you. It was boiling hot and I stood there for
> two
> > hours. She even took pity on me after a while and offered me a laundry detergent sample, which
> I
> > politely refused. I was ogling the cap she had caught just in front of my nose, thinking I
> might
> > filch it from her bag. But I didn’t. So this year, I got there at the end of the caravan
> > throw-away thing, and this packet, which looked like a cape comes sailing out only to be
> grabbed
> > by the young girl in front of me. I knew better than to wait another couple of hours this
> time,
> > though, and went to the van selling promotional packages for 10 euros and bought one of those,
> > headed home. There was a cap in it that says ‘Tour de France’, so I figured that was good
> enough
> > for my brother. There was also a couple of Equipe sports papers, a Paris Match and Cuisine
> > Actuelle, plus the local paper. I didn’t even stick around for the cyclists, well, I had four
> > classes to prepare for, so.
> >
> > I’ve been going out more, although since the confinement, and perhaps even before, I like
> > staying home, or just walking by myself, like you. It’s such a haven of peace, my jungle and
> > all. I often have to force myself to accept invitations. I did get out to the mountains a
> couple
> > of weeks ago, when Kenji invited me for a hike on my birthday weekend. Louis and Mathilde had
> > come from Lyon to surprise me, we all went to a restaurant run by an Algerian acquaintance of
> > mine, then we played a board game in the park behind my place. Early the next morning, Kenji
> and
> > I set out by train to Lus la Croix Haute, in the Hautes Alpes, about an hour and a half from
> > here. We met some friends who were at a campsite there, then hiked the whole afternoon. Some
> > photos here. When I was married, we used to have a little house on the other side of the pass,
> > where we would go on weekends. It’s the only thing I regret having sold off at the divorce. It
> > was in a tiny hamlet, with woods and little brooks heading up into the mountains, deer and
> other
> > wildlife, lots of butterflies.
> >
> > I also went to this performance thing at the St Roch cemetery. I was walking there with
> Juliette
> > and Domi, when we ran across a musician practising on his cello the Friday before. He invited
> us
> > to come to the performance on the Sunday, so we went, it was free. it was a thematic tour of
> > part of the cemetery, with two actresses talking about some of the people buried there, using
> > song and dramaturgy, while the two musicians played a few pieces on cello and guitar at each
> > halt. They were nice pieces, a Nocturne by Chopin, and Torna a Surriento, my dad’s favourite
> > song. Domi thought the cellist was hot; I agreed with her, although Juliette didn’t. I
> wouldn’t
> > use that word ‘hot’, though; he looked sensitive and restrained, which is appealing.
> >
> > Went out a couple of nights ago with Sabina, since her old gay friend Fred was in town, from
> > Portugal, where he’s settled down after selling his wine bar in Lyon. We went to a restaurant,
> > then to the arab quarter to see a friend of his. When we arrived, rather late in the night,
> the
> > friend was sitting outside the hookah bar, where a makeshift terrace had been set up with tiny
> > metal folding tables and some cheap patio chairs on the market square.He was obviously a
> > character in the movie of that particular moment: an aging , squat fellow with a bowl haircut
> > like a medieval squire and a very observant twinkle in his eye. He apparently knew everybody
> > that walked past, was a fixture in that place, like part of the furniture, although he wasn’t
> > Arab, and was obviously gay. We had a Moroccan mint tea and listened to Gerard talk about his
> > world. He is one of those people who have the gift of creating their persona before your eyes,
> > with a real sense of theatre, arabesques, mannerisms and all, but with a velvety charm that
> > takes you in like a warm fireplace on a cold evening. It wasn’t cold that evening, but
> watching
> > the young Tunisians smoke their pipes against the wall in the dark while drinking the sweet
> mint
> > tea and listening to Gerard was illuminating. I realized that what was so appealing about him
> > was that while he described the ups and downs, the comedies and tragedies of the people he
> knew,
> > he was never mean or condescending or cynical. Made me think it’s rare to hear people speak so
> > compassionately about other people these days.
> >
> > Well, this ig getting long. I hope your shaking problem goes away. Your cemetery story is
> > incredible. I didn’t know cemeteries could be privately owned. When I see the tombs in St Roch
> > that are so old and forgotten that the names and dates have disappeared and all overgrown with
> > ivy, yet still respected as tombs, I felt good about that. As if some things could escape the
> > vile religion of our times.
> >
> >_______________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > Envoyé : mercredi 16 septembre 2020 05:47
> > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > It’s gotten cooler here, too, but I’ve been dealing with another type
> > issue that makes it hard to type. It’s on account of the drinking, I
> > think. So I took a couple of pills and wait to see if that and not
> > drinking makes the shaking go away. Feeling all kinds of off today and
> > this week.
> >
> > I’ve been seeing Cocaine Jane again. She added something new to her act.
> > She holds a cell phone to her ear but obviously, to me at least, is not
> > talking to anybody. Just looking busy and purposeful, as I sometimes do.
> >
> > I’ve also seen a guy I can’t decide if I should call him Crack Jack or
> > Jack Crack, but whatever he’s on has the effect of making him walk into
> > complete strangers, while smiling a sly little grin. He doesn’t seem aware
> > of what he’s doing.
> >
> > Then there is Dowdy Dorothy, a woman I recognize from having worked with
> > her briefly at Avon, the cosmetics company, which was my first real job in
> > New York. She looks at me directly but there appears no recognition. She
> > walks everywhere, pushing a granny cart and I think collecting
> > recyclables. Some day I’d like to ask her if she really is who I think,
> > but revisiting 25 year old office gossip doesn’t sound useful. She’s
> > probably in her mid 70s. I basically took over her job as Admin/Word
> > Processor because she was utterly incompetent. So I’d wonder if she still
> > remembers that and holds a grudge. I doubt it.
> >
> > Another woman, also from Avon, I see around but she’s not an all-day
> > wanderer like Cocaine Jane, Dowdy Dorothy, or Jack Crack. They, and I,
> > feel like a team, even though we never talk and I don’t think they even
> > know I exist.
> >
> > Sounds like you’re scene has returned to some form of normalcy, though it
> > was never as far from normal as here or other places. You make six hours
> > of meditation sound like it went a little too long. I guess normalcy
> > is almost here, too, with few new cases every day. The masks really are
> > working and people really are wearing them. I made a first subway trip
> > since January and got a drunk asshat in my face, no mask, ranting. So I
> > went and got tested again and came back negative. The test was different
> > this time, way more tickish. I coulda sneezed in the guy’s face.
> >
> > The Schroeder and Charlie Brown masks have definitely gotten me attention.
> > Three people stopped me and asked to take a picture of me wearing it. Was
> > nice.
> >
> > I encountered the scene of a motorcycle accident a couple of days ago. The
> > bodies were gone but the bikes remained and a bunch of cops were standing
> > around. People were saying both riders died but a news report I found said
> > only one did. Kind of an unnerving thing to encounter on a bright Sunday
> > morning.
> >
> > I’ve been once again trying to research a story that’s been on my mind for
> > years, far longer than I realized, since 2006. Someone told me that the
> > stone wall surrounding Socrates Sculpture Park in Astoria is made of
> > tombstones from St. Michael Cemetery. How did they get there and why?
> >
> > Apparently a new owner took over the cemetery and made his first order of
> > business knocking down tombstones of people whose descendents were not
> > making Perpetual Care payments. He hauled the toppled stones off to an
> > illegal dumping ground that later became Socrates Park. He then dumped 6
> > feet of dirt on top of the old burials intending to sell more plots. But
> > the public got wind of it, there was outrage, the plan never happened, and
> > today there is a 6-foot high hill of dirt with no burials. When they
> > started building out Socrates they found piles of tombstones and decideed
> > to use themto build a wall around the park. I always thought that was kind
> > of questionable.
> >
> > That’s been the general story I’ve had for 14 years. Those are
> > definitely tombstones and funerary rocks but I don’t know if they came
> > from St. Michael’s. The style is different, which maybe shouldn’t matter,
> > since St. Mike’s is inconsistent in æsthetics from one section to the
> > next. But it’s the numbering and the verbiage that don’t seem like they
> > fit anywhere in the place.
> >
> > So I’m trying to understand which cemetery they actually came from, and
> > why. Doing it because no one had paid perpetual care payments is a
> > reasonable explanation for why it happened, but from where? Blahblahblah,
> > I sound boring as hell today.
> >
> > The muscle twitches that were interfering with my ability to type seem to
> > have gone away after taking two panic pills earlier. That’s a relief. I
> > was afraid they wouldn’t work, and that I had a dreaded side-effect for
> > having had the virus those months ago. I hear more and more about the long
> > haulers, people lives will never be the same. Like Juan, about whom the VA
> > released that feel-good video. He got totally used. He’s looking at
> > multiple surgeries for failed organs, ligament damage, I don’t what else.
> >
> > I just went outside after dark. I did that last week for the first time in
> > I don’t even remember. Not drinking makes me think I should get as good
> > and tired as possible so I’ll sleep better but I’m not sure it ever really
> > worked like that.
> >
> > I’ve hardly touched the piano. Been out walking most days, trying to write
> > some, and also documenting the payphones.
> >
> > I don’t fully remember the Dave and his wife nonrecognition encounter at
> > present, but they were masked and hatted and his hair looked a little
> > different. I saw my ex’s mother yesterday but did not recognize her
> > immediately before she walked off. She didn’t know it was I who opened the
> > door for her. I guess there’s a lot of this going on, and with me the
> > glasses getting fogged up makes it even worse. I’ve actually had to stop
> > walking at times when the lenses got so fogged up I couldn’t see anything.
> >
> >
> > On Tue, 1 Sep 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> >
> > > Back from a short trip which started last Thursday. Decided on the spur of the moment, as
> > > Juliette and Domi both wanted me to accompany them on the drive up to Burgundy, where this
> > > meditation retreat had been proposed for months and I wasn’t that hot about signing up for
> it.
> > > But I finally thought it might be nice to get away from Grenoble at least a few days this
> > > summer. Juliette and I left a day earlier than everybody else so we could spend a day and a
> > > half alone with the couple who own the family heritage house where the meditation thing was
> > > supposed to take place. I get along well with the couple, a retired medical doctor and his
> > wife,
> > > psychoanalyst, since I had been giving them Japanese lessons for the last six months or so.
> It
> > > was a great idea to go up early, since once the meditation retreat started, we wouldn’t be
> > able
> > > to go out of the property for three days. We were able to visit the surrounding villages and
> > see
> > > the wine harvest at it’s peak: long lines of tractors trailing containers of grapes to the
> > > weighing stations and harvesters from everywhere in France hired to pick the grapes, dotting
> > the
> > > vineyards and walking down the country roads.
> > > The village nearest the house is Fleurie, known for its Beaujolais wine. We went to an
> evening
> > > market in the village, where they had set up tables under old cedar trees next to the city
> > hall
> > > for people to gather and taste the wine, listen to music and buy trinkets at little stands.
> > Back
> > > at the house, we had dinner under the huge linden tree in the garden. The house dates back
> to
> > > the 1800’s, a ‘maison de maître, or mansion, which has stayed in the family for six
> > generations.
> > > Juliette and I slept in the maids’ room on the second floor, a cozy chamber looking out on
> the
> > > garden and vineyards beyond, furnished with the original wooden furniture and ancient
> > wallpaper.
> > > Such a big old house would take a lot of money to keep it renovated, so much of it is still
> in
> > > progress, adding to the fact that the couple told us that the various members of the family
> > who
> > > own the place often disagree about what should be done and who should be doing it.
> > > There was a moon the first night, so we went out walking in the vineyard across the road
> from
> > > their place. Michel pointed out the piles of dried grapes thrown in the middle of the paths
> > > between the rows of vines: we tasted some, they were delicious raisins, better than the Sun
> > Rype
> > > ones of my childhood in Canada. He said we could pick them if we wanted; the harvesters had
> > > already passed through this field and whatever that was left was for the birds. We also
> picked
> > > fresh figs from the tree in the backyard : figs are one of my favourite fruit, and I
> somehow
> > > manage to find somebody who has a fig tree every summer so I can eat them directly off the
> > tree,
> > > when they’re at their best. We heard an owl hooting in the night, under the eaves.
> > > The next morning, we helped Michel and Ghislaine, the couple, to pick the grapes and figs
> that
> > > were growing over the wall next to the road, a delicate affair, since you needed a ladder
> and
> > > had to be careful of cars passing by. Ghislaine took us for a drive in the surrounding
> > > countryside after lunch to see an ancient chapel on the hill and more vineyards in the
> rolling
> > > hillsides. It started to rain in the afternoon, so we were glad to have done all of that
> > before
> > > it began. Then we moved all the furniture out of the parlour, except for the piano, since it
> > was
> > > the room which would serve as the dojo for the meditation, and people began to arrive around
> > > four, as I started to cook dinner. People who don’t know me very well think that cooking is
> > the
> > > great passion of my life, which I’m happy to let them believe. I think it’s rather that I
> > prefer
> > > participating in large events by doing something practical and what is for me, meditative,
> > > rather than strain at trying to be the life of the party, which is more Juliette’s line.
> > > There were twenty-three people by the time night fell; the following days consisted of a
> > strict
> > > routine: meals, meditation, lectures, cleaning and cooking. The mealtimes were not strict at
> > > all; it was a motley group, young and old, a few men, mostly women, I knew most of them, a
> > > pleasant group to be with. Four or five doctors, none of whom seemed to be very preoccupied
> > > about covid. Juliette and I feel like kids when the atmosphere gets serious. For example,
> > we’re
> > > supposed to be silent going from the last meditation seance to bed, but we end up whispering
> > and
> > > giggling in the hallway and in our room.
> > > The long hours of meditation from 6 am to noon are the hardest, After lunchtime, which was
> > long,
> > > outside in the garden, some people nod off during the lecture. I listen to the wind rustling
> > the
> > > leaves in the linden tree more than I do the words. The lecture was based on the philosophy
> of
> > > the Stoics, notably Epictetus. Philosophy was never my thing. Too much like Math. Funny how
> > > Western Buddhist teachers try to find correspondances between traditional Western thought
> and
> > > Buddhism. I almost prefer Kipling’s saying ‘East is East and West is West and never the
> twain
> > > shall meet.’ But there was a girl, Lindsey, who cited a poem by Emily Dickinson, which
> seemed
> > to
> > > me to sum up everything the Zen teacher was trying to say in his convoluted mental
> > > gymnastics,but with so much more ease:
> > >
> > > ‘It’s all I have to bring to-day,
> > > This, and my heart beside.
> > > This, and my heart, and all the fields.
> > > And all the meadows wide.
> > > Be sure you count, should I forget,
> > > Some one the sum could tell, –
> > > This, and my heart, and all the bees
> > > Which in the clover dwell.’
> > >
> > > The plenitude of the end of summer, with grapes nodding full in the last green of the sun,
> the
> > > wind in the linden tree, the owl’s low velvet voice in the black eaves of the sleeping roof,
> > the
> > > rain tapping at the windowpane, the woodbugs we capture in a glass next to the lamp to
> release
> > > into the night. All of these are so much more than words.
> > >
> > > Back home and back to work. It’s gotten cooler, back to school weather. I’m almost missing
> the
> > > days of 40°heat.
> > > My mom is doing well, considering that she hasn’t eaten much for the last few months now.
> The
> > > nurses are surprised at how much much energy she still has. I missed out on the zoom call
> this
> > > evening though, due to dns connection problems with zoom. I spent an hour trying to figure
> out
> > > the problem with Louis who got hold of a technician by live chat, since I didn’t have a
> > > connection with their website, and it turned out to be a national bug the internet provider
> > was
> > > having. I just checked, and it’s working now.
> > > I did a skype class with William, whom I’m teaching again, but my other classes will be in
> > > person or at the school. I’ve been teaching at the school since July, in fact, so getting
> > pretty
> > > used to wearing a mask all the time. What a drag, though.
> > > Your Charlie Brown mask is great. But you know me, I wouldn’t want to draw attention to
> > myself,
> > > except maybe with a class of unruly kids. What you didn’t explain is how it is that you
> didn’t
> > > recognize Dave and his wife. They hadn’t cut their hair either? Or were they wearing Minion
> > > masks.
> > >
> > >
> > >
> >>______________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > Envoyé : vendredi 28 août 2020 17:23
> > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > Had kind of a disconcerting experience. I crossed paths with Dave and his
> > > wife, both of whom I’ve known for about 13 years. None of us recognized
> > > each other, and they said they would not have recognized me at all if I
> > > hadn’t recognized them and said something. They said it was mostly my hair
> > > that changed my look. It’s not been cut since January and now looks like
> > > an exploded popover. I don’t like how it feels, either, but still don’t
> > > see that getting it cut is essential or worth what looks like an obvious
> > > risk, being in an enclosed space with someone right in my face. Lucky I
> > > have good teeth, as a dentist visit still sounds like a bad idea, as the
> > > dentist keeps sending me reminder postcards.
> > >
> > > Being unrecognized by and not recognizing people I’ve known for 13 years
> > > was strange, and enough to make me take a zillion pictures of myself in
> > > mirrors and reflective surfaces around New York. It’s a cliché photo
> > > project but I wanted to document myself in all my unrecognizability while
> > > I can. It wasn’t just the hair, of course. It was the mask, and I was
> > > wearing a hat that further obscured my face a little. But still, kinda
> > > weird.
> > >
> > > I heard the nudists of Marseilles are to blame for a virus uptick in
> > > France. Is it true? Things here seem under control, with one day showing
> > > exactly 181 new reported cases. But a lot fewer people are getting tested
> > > now, among other potential statistical vagaries. I can’t believe how empty
> > > Rockefeller Center still is. It’s like walking through a giant skeleton.
> > >
> > > I’ve had a lot of computer problems of late, so much that I’m barely even
> > > at the computer, and probably need to call someone to fix it. Also
> > > been riding the buses a lot in search of payphones, or rather their
> > > disappearance. No dial tone anywhere in Maspeth, Middle Village,
> > > Ridgewood, Fresh Pond, Bushwick. It was an 18-mile day, with probably ½
> > > that on the buses. Going back out to Brooklyn shortly.
> > >
> > > What is the latest on your mother? I thought of her today after
> > > remembering a random thing about my mother. She met a guy on the internet,
> > > or rather through a dialup BBS, before most people connected to the open
> > > internet. She used a computer I gave her, an old DOS XT. She connected to
> > > Scrabble, or a Scrabble clone, and her first game was against this dude
> > > Matt. He played “SEX” She played “YES”. Feels like I mighta told you that
> > > one already. He ended up moving in to the house for at least a couple of
> > > years. Was kind of a weirdo, right-wing conspiracy nut who brought his
> > > guns into our house. He was, in many ways, everything she would have
> > > eschewed, but people have ways of going for everything they complain
> > > about.
> > >
> > > I’ve been at the piano but not much. Sometimes the difference between an
> > > acoustic and this digital is hard to get used to. These days it’s been
> > > like that. Just doesn’t feel real. Are you doing in-person classes now, or
> > > still via Skype? I’ve still never done a Zoom call, and think I only ever
> > > did one Skype call, when I was being paid to do it. A market research
> > > thing for the people who made the tablet computer I have on the piano.
> > > A friend in his 60s wrote to complain about how pasty and weird he looks
> > > on video calls. I’ve had that experience as well.
> > >
> > > I didn’t expect my Charlie Brown masks to make me so popular. One person
> > > asked to take a picture of me wearing it. Others just see it and smile.
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > On Mon, 24 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > >
> > > > That is a cute mask, all you need now is a red piano. Encouraged by my success at
> installing
> > > the
> > > > water filter the other day, I decided to stay on the crest of the wave and attack the
> > > renovation
> > > > of the kids’ room. The big water stain and buckled paint on the ceiling came from the
> crazy
> > > > Brazilian guy’s washing machine years ago: my insurance company sent me a check to get it
> > > > repainted, which I never got around to, so I thought, since I may be having to move out
> soon
> > > and
> > > > need to recuperate my deposit money, this is one thing on that bucket list of things
> > postponed
> > > > since forever. I managed to scrape off the loose paint and started plastering the
> blistered
> > > > area, but I think I’ll need another layer before I begin to paint. I’ve always liked
> > painting,
> > > > though. I remember helping to paint the outside of our family bungalow when I was a kid.
> It
> > > was
> > > > a wooden clapboard structure. All the houses in the row were painted the same colour of
> > yellow
> > > > cream, with green and orange window frames. It was the third house we lived in since I was
> > > born.
> > > > The first one was a tiny one bedroom up on the hill next to where my grandfather lived. I
> > > don’t
> > > > remember that one, but see it in the family photos. The second one was at the bottom of
> the
> > > hill
> > > > paved with seashells. I think we moved to that one when my first brother was born. My dad
> > > built
> > > > me a swing on the porch and there was a cupboard next to the screen door, where our alley
> > cat
> > > > slept. The last house was probably when my second brother arrived, or the third. It was in
> > the
> > > > ‘white’ village, not the ‘japanese’ village where we were before. The village was
> segregated
> > > > like that, with the ‘Indian village’ at the bottom of the hill, then the ‘camps’ where
> > nomadic
> > > > fishermen came up only for the summer. Seems unthinkable now. The white village houses
> were
> > > not
> > > > barracks, but individual houses with picket fences around small grassy plots out front.
> The
> > > > house we lived in was where the doctor of the American army camp stayed during their
> stint,
> > > and
> > > > the neighbouring houses probably where the other officers were lodged. The houses were no
> > > better
> > > > constructed than the barracks, with thin uninsulated walls, tar papered roofs and a simple
> > oil
> > > > heater to heat the whole house. But I remember it seeming luxurious to me, especially
> having
> > > > that little grassy garden in front with a cherry tree in the corner of it. Back of the
> > house,
> > > > the Canadian wilderness rose up directly in the form of a cliff, where we used to climb up
> > > into
> > > > the woods to pick berries and play in the scrubby underbrush of pine trees. Winters, we
> even
> > > > tried to skate on the narrow stream trickling along the side of the house. Bears used to
> > > > scrounge in the garbage drums behind the bedroom windows. Those wooden houses were almost
> > like
> > > > living entities, as subject to wind, cold and rain as we were, groaning and creaking under
> > > snow
> > > > and icicles, shuddering on their stilts every time we slammed a door too hard.
> > > >
> > > > Went raspberry picking yesterday with Kenji and his dad. Surprised that my ex would invite
> > me,
> > > > but maybe it was Kenji who had the idea. He came up for the weekend from Ardeche, south of
> > > here,
> > > > where he said he was working in a restaurant making pizzas. His latest idea is buying a
> > pizza
> > > > truck and making his living with that. It’s probably a good idea. I wouldn’t say my ex and
> I
> > > are
> > > > on good terms; polite would be more the word, but I feel more relaxed around him now than
> > > > before. He doesn’t know anything about my life since the last fifteen years or so, we’re
> > > > practically strangers; our exchanges are mainly reminescences about friends from the past
> or
> > > > family events. The pleasant thing, I found, was being able to do stuff like picking
> berries
> > in
> > > > the mountains with our son, without it’s becoming in any way nostalgic or emotional, just
> > > > friendly.
> > > >
> > > > Your Drano flowing into Windex poem is interesting, although I can’t say I understand all
> of
> > > it.
> > > > It’s very American, isn’t it? Looking from the outside non-America, it’s the impression I
> > get,
> > > > that the bonsai rainforest is somehow trapped and transmuted into this weird culture that
> > > wants
> > > > to be omniscient, swallow up the world that is not America, acidifying it into
> > insignificance
> > > .
> > > > Some great imagery. I met a French poet a few days ago, a young woman who worked for
> > Juliette
> > > as
> > > > an au pair girl when she first arrived in France from Slovakia. She recited some of her
> > poems
> > > > for us; they were really good; her mastery of the French language was impressive. I think
> > she
> > > > said she’s being published in September, which is encouraging. We talked about eastern
> > > European
> > > > poets from those countries where poetry is still widely read and loved, like Poland and
> > > Russia.
> > > >
> > > > I’m glad you’re writing again and hope you’ll also get back to your piano with Schroeder,
> > > > especially that Schubert piece you were working on.
> > > >
> > > >
> >>>_____________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > Envoyé : vendredi 21 août 2020 20:10
> > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > > You Castorama sounds like the Home Depot here. It is vast. I like hug
> > > > sprawling places that. They remind me of a regular feature of my dreams,
> > > > when I can remember them, which is how I’m usually in some kind of
> > > > compound, a mix of structures and open space where a shopping mall merges
> > > > with a swimming pool that is adjacent to a 12-story dictionary, etc. I,
> > > > too, took pride in setting up the new showerhead, so I know your joy.
> > > >
> > > > I turned in my Census stuff yesterday. Felt strangely sad but she said
> > > > lots of people don’t feel safe doing this. I felt neither safe nor good
> > > > about the job itself, as I think the way they set it up makes the intake
> > > > very prone to errors. Bah, not my problem.
> > > >
> > > > Walked to Midtown and back yesterday, looking for 19s, expecting there to
> > > > be some, but basically there are none. The huge buildings on the avenues
> > > > gobbled up most of the lower-numbered street addresses, it seems.
> > > >
> > > > On Madison Avenue I saw the second public masturbator. I don’t remember if
> > > > I said a dude at Penn Station was doing that last time I passed through,
> > > > and evidently it’s very common at that location. This dude yesterday was
> > > > absolutely gunning it, fast and furious. I lined up to get video but,
> > > > just as the line of sight cleared, he stopped, as did my desire to
> > > > actually document this. I mean why would I?
> > > >
> > > > heading back to Midtown again, this time by bus. Not walking both ways
> > > > again. Slept really well after the long walk, though. Here’s something I
> > > > just wrote. Some of it makes sense, other of it does not. I guess it’s a
> > > > first draft.
> > > >
> > > > —————————-
> > > > A bonsai rainforest,
> > > > swallowed by an avalanche of Drano,
> > > > burrowed through earth’s fulcrum until its
> > > > furious snout struggled for air,
> > > > cornered by wistful memories of sobriety,
> > > > burnt to its roots by over-masculine word-flailing.
> > > >
> > > > I felt its eruption,
> > > > moving to one side as it
> > > > lurched toward me,
> > > > possibly with a smirk but
> > > > uncontrollably benign in its
> > > > lack of facial linguistics.
> > > >
> > > > You swept it to the curb, into an
> > > > abandoned freezer in which
> > > > uninduced families of 4 had
> > > > sequentially choked on typewriter ribbon,
> > > > drowned in raw asphalt.
> > > >
> > > > We took advantage of the calm,
> > > > seducing each other with
> > > > prestidigitational sex and
> > > > grandiloquent platitudes.
> > > > Together we changed public policy,
> > > > and will forever linger in
> > > > Mad Magazine’s footnotes of cultural inanity.
> > > >
> > > > “Cheeseburgers need more mustard,”
> > > > you announced to a malformed
> > > > United Nations committee,
> > > > originally chartered to name hurricanes but which
> > > > evolved into a fornicating mass of overpaid intellectuals.
> > > >
> > > > “Furthermore, the price of God should not include Fine Print.”
> > > >
> > > > No one heard your siren calls and,
> > > > in their contorted emptiness,
> > > > plunged into narrow tombs of
> > > > rotten stuffed animals.
> > > >
> > > > But the transcript became legend,
> > > > feeding generations of unborn fricassee with
> > > > elderly, hunted cobs of corn.
> > > > Your words washed up on foreign shores,
> > > > exploding in the hands of children,
> > > > destroying hurricanes,
> > > > sailing into the neon of
> > > > vacated presidencies.
> > > >
> > > > Lost in pools of overcooked coffee you
> > > > swam to the exact middle of an
> > > > ocean’s control point,
> > > > miming every character from
> > > > Saturday morning cartoons you
> > > > never had a television to see,
> > > > suggesting to none who would listen that
> > > > cocaine-glazed hair signals a
> > > > distinct brand of maturity,
> > > > a unique nail in what
> > > > sobbing critics decried as an
> > > > otherwise routine coffin.
> > > >
> > > > Cunts whistled. Erections throbbed.
> > > > Youthful innocence prompted
> > > > deliberate absences of pasts.
> > > > Snoopy danced. Schroeder pouted.
> > > > Toothless lions and tigers buttfucked to
> > > > empty Las Vegas arenas,
> > > > generating obscure breaths of wind that
> > > > twirled their way into
> > > > nursery rhymes later declared racist, and whoring.
> > > >
> > > > Guest soaps and spy camera keychains filled
> > > > shoes made of unanimity,
> > > > unwalked yet walked,
> > > > as stuffy gamblers rioted in protest of their
> > > > plunging market value.
> > > > Did we forget to tell them
> > > > illiteracy curses pomposity? That the
> > > > jabbing thrust of sunset slowly vaporizes their
> > > > last starved particles of poison?
> > > >
> > > > With the last paper currencies of gratitude spent we
> > > > remember those pokerfaces not as memorable actors but
> > > > amateur charlatans, sweating out the vodka as
> > > > fast as they drank it,
> > > > praising low,
> > > > licking rats to orgasm,
> > > > smiling like obstinate food.
> > > >
> > > > We stand together,
> > > > yet apart,
> > > > in separate architectures sharing a
> > > > stupidly enormous,
> > > > nerdily embroidered doormat.
> > > >
> > > > Cheeses melt.
> > > > Drains clog.
> > > > I surgically forgot who said I was
> > > > “Just like the rest of them.”
> > > >
> > > > Years later we tapped to continue.
> > > > Our collected poems had accumulated.
> > > > Stained ghosts haunted our highways,
> > > > generously supplying America’s potholes.
> > > > Tea cups filled with
> > > > unused writing utensils
> > > > shattered against our walls before a
> > > > strangely bitter scent of Windex filled our lungs.
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > On Wed, 19 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > >
> > > > > Hey, you should listen to Dave sometimes, if it’s something that could be good for you,
> > > Sounds
> > > > > like you just have a hang up about it’s being from the same plant as POT, but actually
> > they
> > > > use
> > > > > hemp not the marijuana plant. What you had a terrible reaction to was the THC, not the
> > CBD.
> > > > > Here’s a video by a doctor explaining how it
> works: https://youtu.be/ao7eg4s36DY?list=WL
> > > > > [maxresdefault.jpg]
> > > > > What is CBD ? Cannabidiol The Inside Story | What Doctors are saying about CBD
> > > > > What Is CBD ? Cannabidiol The Inside Story | What Doctors are saying about CBD Please
> > > > SUBSCRIBE
> > > > > for new videos: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCMSsLqxqvZsN…
> > > > > youtu.be
> > > > > Went to a hardware store across town yesterday to find an adaptor for a water filter
> > system
> > > I
> > > > > got which didn’t fit my tap. Anytime I have to do anything vaguely resembling handy work
> > or
> > > > > tinkering, I get a little nervous, so it was more an expedition than a shopping trip. I
> > > looked
> > > > > up the technical terms for the gadget I needed before I left home, so the vendors at the
> > > store
> > > > > wouldn’t think I was as dumbass as I am, and I would have unscrewed my bathroom tap and
> > > taken
> > > > > that if I could, to make sure I was communicating correctly, but since I didn’t want to
> > > cause
> > > > a
> > > > > flood in my apartment, I measured the diameter of the tap with three different measuring
> > > tapes
> > > > > just to make sure.
> > > > > The hardware store, Castorama, is this huge place out in what they call an industrial
> > zone,
> > > > > where, if you don’t have a car, you’re walking miles across barren parking lots and
> > delivery
> > > > > zones to get there. Not even sidewalks. Inside, it’s a gigantic haystack where finding
> any
> > > > > little needle is like winning the lottery. You have to find a vendor. Luckily, I
> happened
> > on
> > > > one
> > > > > who wanted to serve me; those are quite rare in such places. Mostly, you get the feeling
> > > that
> > > > > all of them are trying to avoid you as if you would make them lose points in some
> > labyrinth
> > > > > video game if you caught one. Unfortunately, he had no idea what kind of gizmo I needed,
> > so
> > > he
> > > > > sent me around the corner to the service desk, where he said his colleague would surely
> > > know.
> > > > > The dude there sent me to another counter, where finally the only vendor in the place
> who
> > > knew
> > > > > his job found the right adaptor for me, even opened up the package to make sure it
> fitted
> > > the
> > > > > water filter cap I had brought along, and I gushed my thanks. So once I got home, I took
> > out
> > > > the
> > > > > kit and caboodle of the filter system. There were at least twenty different parts,
> ranging
> > > > from
> > > > > different sized rubber joints, tubes, caps and whatall. The cardboard box it came in had
> > > only
> > > > > Chinese writing on it and there were no instructions. Not even a brand name or a serial
> > > > > number,for that matter. It took me about half an hour to figure out how to connect the
> > > filter
> > > > to
> > > > > the tap by trial and error, and I finally succeeded, to my surprise. And – the piece I
> had
> > > > > bought at the hardware store was the absolute correct piece I needed, yay! Sometimes the
> > > > nicest
> > > > > surprises are when things don’t go wrong. Whenever I succeed at stuff like this, that a
> > real
> > > > > handyman or woman would find ridiculous, I feel so good about myself that it is
> > ridiculous.
> > > > > The plus was that, winding my way to the checkout counter at the store, I was attracted
> by
> > a
> > > > > houseplant stand and I found a plant for which I had been searching, for only two euros.
> > In
> > > > > French, it’s called ‘Misère’ (misery). It’s latin name is Tadescantia Zebrina, a more
> > > fitting
> > > > > name for the princess of a plant that it is, with its glittering silver streaked leaves,
> > > whose
> > > > > undersides are an equally glittering magenta. In English, it’s called the ‘Wandering
> Jew’,
> > > > > although that appellation may be disappearing. Why such terrible names for such a pretty
> > > > plant?
> > > > > I don’t know. I threw the name card away when I got home and put the princess in a sunny
> > > spot
> > > > in
> > > > > the kitchen. Each of its leaves look as if someone handpainted two silver brushstrokes
> on
> > > them
> > > > > that gleam in the sun.
> > > > >
> > > > > Piglet sent me a message today, after a biopsy she aced, thankfully. She said she misses
> > the
> > > > > smell of my hair when we used to hug. (no, she isn’t lesbian) Do you remember the smells
> > of
> > > > > people? I think the first smell I remember was my dad, who used to take me on his
> > shoulders
> > > > when
> > > > > I was little. He smelled like dried fruit, maybe apple, and leather. My mother used
> > perfume,
> > > > so
> > > > > the scent that reminds me of her is Guerlain’s Shalimar, although she would change her
> > > > perfumes
> > > > > regularly, going from Chanel no 5 to Vol de Nuit to Joy. I liked opening the little
> > bottles
> > > > and
> > > > > smelling them when I was a kid. The nicest smells of all, though, were of my children
> when
> > > > they
> > > > > were very young. I suppose it’s biological, this olfactory triggering of the maternal
> > > instinct
> > > > > or something, but smelling the milky, sweet scent of a baby does make me feel protective
> > and
> > > > > tender.
> > > > >
> > > > > Started sorting out the mess in the kids’ room, sold a boxful of books online, took a
> > > caddyful
> > > > > of unsaleable stuff to the secondhand store. These are all exploits in the 36° heat, I’d
> > > say.
> > > > > Watermelon weather.
> > > > > I think it’s kind of ridiculous to cover your face while outdoor dining except to eat.
> > Like,
> > > > > between bites? Is that even scientific? Researchers are now saying that covid can be
> > inhaled
> > > > > from 13 feet away, so even social distancing is becoming this token thing that doesn’t
> > make
> > > > > sense. Weird how we warp the facts to fit our contingencies instead of the contingencies
> > of
> > > > the
> > > > > virus.
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> >>>>____________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > _
> > > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > > Envoyé : mardi 18 août 2020 20:40
> > > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > > > That tomb looks like it’s decorated with Christmas tree lights.
> > > > >
> > > > > I just quit the Census, asking if there is anything I can do in another
> > > > > capacity. I did this in kind of a douchey way, texting the supervisor on
> > > > > what I know to be her day off. I was getting ready to go out one last
> > > > > time, to give it one last chance. But I got shaky again, which I thought
> > > > > would stop happening the more I went out. But no. And for as long as I can
> > > > > stand being out there, only a couple of hours at a time, it’s not enough
> > > > > money to make it worthwhile.
> > > > >
> > > > > I haven’t seen any of S&tC in a long time but remember all the women as
> > > > > being superficial and predatory. Maybe Charlotte had some redeeming
> > > > > qualities. I know a woman who my ex was friends with, who matched the
> > > > > peppy blonde who drew men like flies. My ex really resented her, though
> > > > > the peppy blonde never seemed to have a steady boyfriend.
> > > > >
> > > > > But the ex failed to recognize that she drew men like that, too, at
> > > > > least when I was not around. If we met up somewhere and she got there 3
> > > > > minutes ahead of me she’d have dudes on both sides of her. She just didn’t
> > > > > seem to recognize what was going on, or maybe she didn’t care.
> > > > >
> > > > > I made it to Calvary the other day, but only for a bathroom break.
> > > > > Things don’t really change much at Calvary, though I look for such things.
> > > > > The funeral scene from “The Godfather” was filmed there in the early
> > > > > 1970s, and it all looks pretty much the same, except they recently tore
> > > > > down the Kosciuszko Bridge and built a new one, so that’s changed.
> > > > >
> > > > > That reminds me of what an incredible sight that was, when I happened into
> > > > > Calvary unaware that the slow-motion demolition of the old bridge was
> > > > > under way. Images cannot capture how colossally different the
> > > > > landscape looked, but I tried. I had to actually stop and look at this
> > > > > for several seconds before realizing what was going on, then remembering
> > > > > that oh, right, I heard about this on the radio. It’s like I was seeing
> > > > > something so big I could not even see it, if that makes sense. I thought
> > > > > the demolition would be an all-at-once thing, and in the end they did
> > > > > blow up a portion of it. But most of it was piece by piece. That is by far
> > > > > the biggest change at Calvary.
> > > > >
> > > > > I was surprised the bathroom was open, but I guess it’s well ventilated.
> > > > > There was some talk early in the pandemic about Covid 99-80 shit plumes
> > > > > that would blast germs into the air when someone took a dump. Actually I
> > > > > think the theory was the plume would blast off upon flushing. Don’t know
> > > > > how true that is but it’s an intriguing visual, should the plume somehow
> > > > > be made visible.
> > > > >
> > > > > Which in turn reminds me of a weird experience I had with
> > > > > a toilet at a Starbucks that flushed automatically. There was no
> > > > > signage, you just had to figure out that you could not flush it
> > > > > directly. So if you doo what you have to doo you are left with the strange
> > > > > feeling that you left something behind, and something kind of disgusting
> > > > > at that. Opening the door to leave the bathroom, I discovered, is what
> > > > > ignited the flushing switch. The door opened far enough before the
> > > > > flushing started that there would have been enough time for someone
> > > > > standing right outside the door to see what I left behind. Was quite an
> > > > > odd experience.
> > > > >
> > > > > I saw more talk of rising numbers of infections in Paris and Marsailles.
> > > > > We had a bit of a surge in Sunset Park, in Brooklyn, but for the most part
> > > > > it seems under control. Still no indoor dining, probably not for a while
> > > > > yet. They’re talking about enforcing the mask rule for outdoor dining,
> > > > > where if you are not engaged in the act of consumption you must cover
> > > > > your face. I don’t think I’ve seen anybody do that. No end in sight for
> > > > > travel restrictions.
> > > > >
> > > > > My friend Dave tried to sell me on that CBD stuff but I’m just too afraid
> > > > > of having a bad reaction. I smoked pot with him a few years ago and it was
> > > > > horrifying. I know that stuff is not the same as pot but I just don’t want
> > > > > to take chances. I stick to Ativan when I need it, even though my doctor
> > > > > doesn’t like prescribing it.
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > On Mon, 17 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > > >
> > > > > > Sex in the City is more Juliette than Françoise. She could be an older French version
> of
> > > > > Carrie
> > > > > > Bradshaw, a stylish, very pretty blonde full of pep and idosyncrasies, who attracts
> men
> > > like
> > > > > > flies. (The character of Carrie Bradshaw annoyed me in the series, though, so
> > superficial
> > > > and
> > > > > > predatory). Anyway, Juliette joined us yesterday for a glass of white wine at the
> market
> > > > just
> > > > > > before lunch and the day bubbled away happily after that, the three of us going back
> to
> > my
> > > > > place
> > > > > > for lunch, then walking to the St Roch cemetery, which I wanted to show them. A
> > > thunderstorm
> > > > > was
> > > > > > brewing, with distant thunder behind the mountains- the cemetery was deserted and
> eerily
> > > > > > beautiful. We went traipsing along the alleys, laughing and admiring the sculptures
> and
> > > > > > wildflowers and reading some of the gravestones: if the dead could see and hear us, it
> > > would
> > > > > > have warmed their hearts. The pic I’m including is an angel I’ve sent you before,
> except
> > > > that
> > > > > > her face and top part of her body had been hidden by ivy before, so now she’s all
> there.
> > I
> > > > > love
> > > > > > going back to places and seeing these kind of changes, don’t you?
> > > > > > Went to have an apero in the old part of town after that since we were getting
> devoured
> > by
> > > > > > mosquitoes. The storm was approaching, but we didn’t care. We went to one of the
> oldest
> > > café
> > > > > > bars in Grenoble, La Table Ronde, which goes back to the 1700’s. Jean Jacques Rousseau
> > and
> > > > > > Stendhal frequented the place in their day. There is a statue of the Chevalier Bayard
> in
> > > the
> > > > > > middle of the square in front of the Palais du Parlement Dauphinois, which used to be
> > the
> > > > > > ancient courthouse. We got a table under the awning looking out at that and ordered
> our
> > > > usual
> > > > > > beer and wine, chattering through the storm as it glittered the stones of the square
> > with
> > > > > > torrential rain. At one point, we had to put our umbrellas up, but we preferred
> sitting
> > > out
> > > > > > there alone on the square than to go inside: I guess that could be a scene from Sex in
> > the
> > > > > > City.
> > > > > > We didn’t talk about sex, though. Juliette and I sometimes do, but you would be
> > surprised
> > > > how
> > > > > > little most women I’ve ever known talk about that. Not that it’s a taboo subject, but
> it
> > > > isn’t
> > > > > > what interests us the most, I suppose, at least to talk about with other women.
> Juliette
> > > > went
> > > > > on
> > > > > > this dating website and she’ll talk about how boorish the dudes who text her can be:
> > like
> > > > guys
> > > > > > who haven’t even met her yet and are already telling her off because she didn’t reply
> > > within
> > > > > 24
> > > > > > hours. Makes me smile, because I look at Juliette and tell that dude in my head- you,
> > dumb
> > > > > > douchebag, just lost the lottery. Amazing how so many men have their agenda, too, and
> > it’s
> > > > > often
> > > > > > even more rigid than other parts of themselves, and then there are the tightwads whose
> > > > primary
> > > > > > concern is protecting whatever money they have from eventually scheming golddiggers,
> > which
> > > > > they
> > > > > > assume all women must be, until proven to the contrary. I have to say. I’ve never
> been
> > on
> > > a
> > > > > > dating site myself. I’m allergic to that kind of thing, although my girlfriends
> > regularly
> > > > try
> > > > > to
> > > > > > get me to go on one. Just too – I don’t know, rigged and consumerist for me. Like a
> dog
> > > show
> > > > > or
> > > > > > something. I think I’ve always liked atypical people who never do that kind of thing,
> > and
> > > > yes,
> > > > > > they still exist.
> > > > > > Back to my place for another bottle of wine with the empanadas we cooked for the first
> > > time
> > > > in
> > > > > > our lives. We chattered and giggled so late that Juliette had to stay over, but the
> > > > > conversation
> > > > > > was nothing you could imagine. I can’t even remember all of it, we danced from one
> topic
> > > to
> > > > > > another, like kids talking during recess at school and it was pleasant because it was
> so
> > > > > devoid
> > > > > > of tension: that’s when you realize who your friends are, those with whom you can
> just
> > > > relax
> > > > > > and be your laziest, silliest self without a second thought.
> > > > > > Françoise left this afternoon, so yup, I’m back to my watermelon diet. We talked about
> > > this
> > > > > guy
> > > > > > I had met at a New Year’s party she had invited me to at a friend’s place in the
> village
> > > > near
> > > > > > where she lives. This was like four or five years ago; I remember being attracted to
> the
> > > > guy.
> > > > > We
> > > > > > spent the whole evening talking on a couch while everybody else was dancing and
> drinking
> > > > > around
> > > > > > us. He lived next door, so he showed me his apartment, which was about as full of
> plants
> > > as
> > > > > mine
> > > > > > is today. I thought we had some kind of connection and I think he liked me, but
> nothing
> > > > > > happened. Like, I felt he was sorry when I had to leave the party, but he didn’t ask
> for
> > > my
> > > > > > number or anything. I thought he might have a girlfriend or something, so I asked
> > > Françoise
> > > > > the
> > > > > > next day, but she said no, he’s just this solitary type, doesn’t want to get involved
> > with
> > > > > > anyone. Into alcohol and drugs, depressed. So yesterday, she mentioned his name,
> because
> > > the
> > > > > > couple who live next door to him are good friends of hers and she goes to see them
> > often.
> > > > She
> > > > > > had a photo of his plant collection, which sparked my interest, but said the guy was
> > worse
> > > > off
> > > > > > than ever, had lost his job because of his drinking and depression. It’s sad.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > You’ve often talked about your repugnance for pot, but I was thinking you might
> look
> > > into
> > > > > > cannabidiol or CBD as a treatment for anxiety attacks. It’s nothing like pot, no odor,
> > no
> > > > > > hallucinatory effects of THC, in fact, doctors are said to be prescribing it more and
> > more
> > > > as
> > > > > a
> > > > > > remedy for pain, insomnia, depression and a host of other problems, with scientific
> data
> > > and
> > > > > > trials to back them up. At least, it might help you sleep.
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> >>>>>___________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > _
> > > > > _
> > > > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > > > Envoyé : lundi 17 août 2020 20:38
> > > > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > > > > I’m imagining your night out with Françoise as two dames on the town, “Sex
> > > > > > & the City” style, talking about boys, boys, and more boys, with an
> > > > > > anecdote culminating with you saying “THEN HE STARTS SENDING ME COCK
> > > > > > SHOTS!” Cackling laughter reigns.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > I think I said once that a therapist I saw for about 6 months turned out
> > > > > > to have been friends with the first woman I dated in New York. It seems
> > > > > > certain to me that those two talked about the sex we had. Strange in a
> > > > > > time-shifted kind of way, but the therapist would almost certainly have
> > > > > > never made the connection.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Don’t have much time today to write, or much to say, for that matter.
> > > > > > Listened back to some of my shower ruminations, finding myself boring as
> > > > > > hell when I have a regular job to complain about. Probably already said I
> > > > > > find it far more nervewracking than I even possibly imagined. I crossed
> > > > > > paths with a fellow Census worker on Friday, though, and it was good to
> > > > > > talk shop and complain about this stupid gig. She’s putting in 8-hour
> > > > > > days, I’m wiped out after just 2 hours.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > I called the owner of this building last night to complain about the
> > > > > > smell of pot smoke coming from downstairs. He basically told me to fuck
> > > > > > off. It makes me sick, and it might even make me pass out. I just wanted
> > > > > > it on record, so to speak, that it’s an issue he might want to deal with,
> > > > > > and which causes problems for me.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > I watched a bunch of Chaturbate yesterday. The woman was no beauty but
> > > > > > man, she did cuntsucking really well, wrapping her legs tight and pushing
> > > > > > his head into her like she wanted to swallow him with her cunt. The dude
> > > > > > looked like he was 13 until you saw his junk. He also looked an awful lot
> > > > > > like someone I know who writes for a local news site, and it honestly
> > > > > > wouldn’t surprise me if that person did that kind of thing. What I admire
> > > > > > about those performers is their stamina. These two were going at it for at
> > > > > > least 3 hours, with no sign of slowing down. I start to wonder if they
> > > > > > ever have sex with no one watching, or if they don’t just do this
> > > > > > professionally and don’t really know each other.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > My reference to being white was meant as a reference back to that Paul
> > > > > > Auster story, where he was conspicuously white in the black mecca of
> > > > > > Harlem. But New York has as many racists as any place else in the U.S.,
> > > > > > with white being the new black, and sexual orientation the new race. At
> > > > > > least that’s my interpretation. Trump stoked the flames of racism in
> > > > > > America, and white rage, through demagoguery and white nationalism. I find
> > > > > > it hard to interpret the reality of these things versus how they get
> > > > > > conflated and blown out of proportion on social media, but the dicsussion
> > > > > > these days seems to assume everything that passes through those channels
> > > > > > is relevant and worth repeating.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > My tolerance for alcohol decreases after just one day, forget about a
> > > > > > longer span of time. It’s kind of amazing. Lately I’ve been doing stupid
> > > > > > things, like waking at 3am and doing vodka shots, thinking it’s good for
> > > > > > me. It’s usually fine the next day if I chase the shots with water
> > > > > > but many times I neglect to do that.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > I went to the Astoria Pool for the first time ever last summer. It’s the
> > > > > > first time since I had a gym membership, over 20 years ago, that I’d been
> > > > > > in a locker room full of naked dudes. I found it really unnerving. The
> > > > > > woman I went with said the women’s room had individual stalls. I seem to
> > > > > > remember that being the norm back in school, that women got private booths
> > > > > > while men communally strutted their junk. It was some kind of code.
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > > On Sat, 15 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > > > >
> > > > > > > It was pouring rain at about the same time over here the day before yesterday. I
> must
> > > have
> > > > > > > collected several gallons of rainwater by sticking my arm out the window with a
> > watering
> > > > > can.
> > > > > > As
> > > > > > > a result, everything became much greener since yesterday. Françoise came yesterday
> > > > afternoon
> > > > > > to
> > > > > > > spend the weekend with me and it’s been a little holiday within a holiday since she
> > > came.
> > > > > Her
> > > > > > > boyfriend was off at some motorcycle rally, so she decided to come see me instead of
> > me
> > > > > going
> > > > > > to
> > > > > > > her place, which suited me fine.
> > > > > > > Which means I went off my watermelon diet. Yesterday, we went to a bar in the middle
> > of
> > > > the
> > > > > > park
> > > > > > > near my place for an apéro (apéritif), which for her is beer and for me, rosé wine.
> > > After
> > > > > the
> > > > > > > storm the day before, the air was cooler and cleaner. Back to my place for lebanese
> > > mezzes
> > > > > and
> > > > > > > more chilled wine. I’m so not used to drinking now that a couple of glasses of wine
> > with
> > > > the
> > > > > > > heat of the early evening gets me a little pickled and merry. Today, we set off for
> > the
> > > > > > > Chartreuse, a mountain range just north of here, about 40 minutes by car, going
> > through
> > > > pine
> > > > > > > forests, ending up at a swimming pool where we spent the afternoon doing lengths and
> > > > lazing
> > > > > on
> > > > > > a
> > > > > > > grassy bank looking up at the surrounding peaks. It was a national holiday, the day
> of
> > > the
> > > > > > > Virgin Mary, I believe, although like a lot of other holidays in France, nobody
> really
> > > > pays
> > > > > > > attention to the reason why. So it was astounding in the middle of a hot summer,
> that
> > so
> > > > few
> > > > > > > people were at the swimming pool: possibly for reasons of covid, or because people
> > > > preferred
> > > > > > > going south to the sea. Anyway, we had a lane all to ourselves all afternoon, which
> > > > allowed
> > > > > me
> > > > > > > to get back in stride, since I hadn’t swum a lot for a couple of years now. Nothing
> > like
> > > > an
> > > > > > old
> > > > > > > friend and a quiet outdoor pool in the mountain air to feel that everything’s
> alright
> > > > with
> > > > > > the
> > > > > > > world. On the way back, we stopped at a bar; Francoise had her beer, me a cider,
> then
> > > > > > descended
> > > > > > > to Grenoble for another drink before dinner. The bar in the park was closed,so we
> went
> > > to
> > > > > the
> > > > > > > old part of town and I showed her some of the sights before we settled at a Spanish
> > > tapas
> > > > > bar
> > > > > > > near the market. Something about two women out on the town: people seem always
> > > benevolent
> > > > > and
> > > > > > > friendly. We never get too drunk to navigate, but fizzle our way laughing and happy
> > > > through
> > > > > > the
> > > > > > > evening. Francoise and I go way back to when I just landed in this country. She
> > actually
> > > > put
> > > > > > me
> > > > > > > up a few weeks after I first arrived and couldn’t yet speak French, and our kids are
> > not
> > > > > only
> > > > > > > cousins, but quite conniving, having spent a lot of their childhood holidays
> together.
> > > She
> > > > > has
> > > > > > > her ups and downs with her boyfriend, like most couples, so the little break does
> her
> > > > good.
> > > > > > And
> > > > > > > I’m glad for her company. Being with somebody from out of town makes me realize that
> > the
> > > > > > region
> > > > > > > I live in is really beautiful, despite it’s not being as well-known as Paris or Lyon
> > or
> > > > > > > Marseille. The surrounding mountains are breath-taking and refreshing, coming from
> the
> > > > > > > heat-afflicted concrete city, and only minutes away by car.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > ‘Good Luck’ is not a nice thing to say to people who have to move, lol. It makes it
> > > sound
> > > > > all
> > > > > > > the more harder. I’m not getting all worked up about it, for the moment. I’ll see
> what
> > > > comes
> > > > > > up.
> > > > > > > I’m thinking about trying to take over Sabrina’s apartment when she leaves, which
> she
> > > > wants
> > > > > to
> > > > > > > do soon. It’s a social housing place, so it might be workable for me, but I’ll have
> to
> > > see
> > > > > > with
> > > > > > > her when she gets back from Normandy. For the moment, her mother just had a stroke
> and
> > > had
> > > > > to
> > > > > > > have a pacemaker put in, so she’s not coming back for another week.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > A little cooler this evening, but still mosquitoes. When you say white people
> knocking
> > > on
> > > > > > doors
> > > > > > > is a joke, what did you mean? Does it come from you feeling white or the people
> seeing
> > > you
> > > > > as
> > > > > > > white? Isn’t there a middle ground of just being human beings possible in the deal?
> Or
> > > is
> > > > > > racism
> > > > > > > that rampant in America. It’s true I’m not white, but I don’t get the impression
> that
> > > here
> > > > > in
> > > > > > > France, people regard each other first and foremost in function of their race. It’s
> > > maybe
> > > > > more
> > > > > > > the social status that counts. The rich sympathize with the rich and the poor
> > sympathize
> > > > > with
> > > > > > > the poor.
> > > > > > >
> >>>>>>__________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > _
> > > > > _
> > > > > > _
> > > > > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > > > > Envoyé : vendredi 14 août 2020 01:04
> > > > > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > > > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > > > > > It is pouring rain here, Florida-style with brutal thunderbursts and
> > > > > > > lightning. Only difference here is that in Florida this would be over in
> > > > > > > 10 minutes.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > Moving sounds, to me at least, like an unwelcome, even traumatizing
> > > > > > > process. How much is your rent increasing? Are there any regulations about
> > > > > > > that kind of thing? I did not know until years later how lucky I was to
> > > > > > > get a rent-stabilized apartment. I don’t think many other cities have
> > > > > > > them, and only certain types of buildings can be stabilized. If I pay my
> > > > > > > rent and don’t destroy the place I can basically never
> > > > > > > get kicked out of here. Rent increases had been capped at 4%, then 2%,
> > > > > > > then an all-out freeze on rent increases was issued for stabilized
> > > > > > > apartments. Being forced out of here would make my life nothing short of
> > > > > > > hell. I hope your possible move is nothing of that sort.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > I still regret not getting a particular apartment in midtown. Maybe 15
> > > > > > > years ago I called a seemingly reputable realtor but it was all a big bait
> > > > > > > and switch. The apartment would have been perfect, in the heart of midtown
> > > > > > > but isolated from the noise. Bah…
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > I always say “Good luck” when someone tells me they are moving. Most of
> > > > > > > the time they respond “Why do people always say that?” Then I tell of the
> > > > > > > woman who was driving her U-Haul truck on the BQE when the cops pulled her
> > > > > > > over and asked if she was aware that all her boxes and furniture were
> > > > > > > flying all over the highway. Obviously she was unaware but, she told me
> > > > > > > later, all she thought of during this debacle was me wishing her good
> > > > > > > luck, and that *this* is why people say that when someone is moving.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > As close as I ever got to imagining having children with anyone was
> > > > > > > probably the last big ex, who I think would have been a horrible parent,
> > > > > > > but who also admitted up front she simply was not ready for kids.
> > > > > > > She started taking the pill the day we made it official. It might have
> > > > > > > been interesting to see what a mix of Chinese/British/Irish/American
> > > > > > > might have looked like. Probably would look a lot more like her than me
> > > > > > > with her dominant genes but I guess you never know. My nephew looks way
> > > > > > > more like his dark-haired father than my blonde sister.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > I don’t think I’m going to make it much further with this Census thing.
> > > > > > > White people knocking on doors in New York City is, as Paul Auster
> > > > > > > recounted, a joke.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > Typed most of this earlier today. Did so much writing/typing in the
> > > > > > > interim I can barely lift these fingers.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > On Wed, 12 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > Saw a Texan boy once on a bus somewhere. Din unnerstand a word he said. But that
> > drawl
> > > > was
> > > > > > > fine.
> > > > > > > > Mostly it looks like a contest to see the minimum of effort you can make to get
> > > yourself
> > > > > > > > understood and oftentimes it’s just a grunt. I remember talking about Canadian
> > sarcasm
> > > > > with
> > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > little brother a long time ago, and after going through a few examples, we were
> > like,
> > > > you
> > > > > > can
> > > > > > > be
> > > > > > > > sarcastic with just one word, then we looked at each other and laughed, because we
> > > both
> > > > > had
> > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > look on our faces that said you can be sarcastic without even talking.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > Was anxious when I woke up this morning after a bad dream. Not my usual self. I
> got
> > a
> > > > > letter
> > > > > > > in
> > > > > > > > the post yesterday saying that my rent was going up again, and much as I love my
> > > > > apartment,
> > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > knew I’d have to be leaving soon. So I scanned the listings and phoned up a real
> > > estate
> > > > > > agency
> > > > > > > > to go visit a place that seemed okay. The comforting thing is that they just give
> > you
> > > > the
> > > > > > key,
> > > > > > > > and you go visit the apartment alone. I didn’t have my hopes up that much, but I
> > knew
> > > > that
> > > > > > > > taking the first step of actually going out to visit something would help me get
> on
> > > > track.
> > > > > > It
> > > > > > > > was in a part of town I’d never been to before, and I thought of your email of
> this
> > > > > morning
> > > > > > > > describing your first day at work. I wasn’t shaking, but I was a little nervous.
> > > Anyway,
> > > > > it
> > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > a lot smaller than it looked in the photos on the website. I tried to imagine my
> > > plants,
> > > > > my
> > > > > > > cat
> > > > > > > > and finally my furniture in the place and realized that it all wouldn’t fit in at
> > all.
> > > > The
> > > > > > > > concept was interesting- an open space on the ground floor with a mezzanine
> looking
> > > down
> > > > > on
> > > > > > it
> > > > > > > > so you got this impression of tall spaciousness. But the windows looked out onto
> the
> > > > > > sidewalk
> > > > > > > > and there was this dead, eery feeling about the place, like you would definitely
> get
> > > > > > depressed
> > > > > > > > spending even a night there.
> > > > > > > > I patted myself on the shoulder for taking the effort to go out there, though.
> I’ve
> > > > looked
> > > > > > for
> > > > > > > > apartments many times before, and it’s always a depressing and stressful time,
> > > > especially
> > > > > on
> > > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > own, so getting out there by this 35° heat instead of procrastinating at home was
> a
> > > good
> > > > > > > > rebuttal to that bad dream.
> > > > > > > > Came home late, after going to Sabrina’s place to water her plants and bring some
> > food
> > > > to
> > > > > > > Kenji,
> > > > > > > > who’s down with a cold. It’s still hot. Plopped on the sofa with a bottle of cold
> > > > Perrier,
> > > > > > > when
> > > > > > > > speak of the devil, Gosling called. He’s down south on the Riviera somewhere. We
> > > talked
> > > > > > about
> > > > > > > > cats; he really likes them. Spent over an hour on the phone just chilling about
> cats
> > > > we’ve
> > > > > > had
> > > > > > > > or known. And that’s it. No agenda. You’re right, it’s often with exes that you
> can
> > > have
> > > > > > that
> > > > > > > > kind of relationship, becoming real friends.
> > > > > > > > Some of my male friends are guys I hadslept with just once, like it was a mistake,
> > but
> > > > we
> > > > > > > stayed
> > > > > > > > friends. Otherwise, there would be that sexual tension there getting in the way.
> > They
> > > > > didn’t
> > > > > > > > seem to mind my not wanting to sleep with them a second time; but it was as if it
> > were
> > > > > some
> > > > > > > rite
> > > > > > > > of passage which permits you to relax after that hurdle was passed. Go figure.
> They
> > > even
> > > > > > > > introduced me to their subsequent girlfriends.
> > > > > > > > I think one of them still has a crush on me, though. He was a friend of my
> > ex-husband
> > > > and
> > > > > > we
> > > > > > > > often met at parties or outings or he would invite us over to his parents’ place
> in
> > > the
> > > > > > > country.
> > > > > > > > He was single back then, hot, and dated a lot of girls. We would often find
> > ourselves
> > > > > > together
> > > > > > > > at the end of some party joking about the others – we had the same sense of
> humour.
> > I
> > > > > > remember
> > > > > > > > one time we were at a bar and saw this dude with a coonskin cap like Davy Crockett
> –
> > > we
> > > > > > dared
> > > > > > > > each other to touch the raccoon tail for luck and spent the whole evening casing
> the
> > > > dude
> > > > > > with
> > > > > > > > the cap without his finding out. When my husband left me, he was one of the few
> who
> > > > > > comforted
> > > > > > > > me without making any moves. It was quite a while later , when I was in love with
> > > Jake
> > > > > and
> > > > > > he
> > > > > > > > himself was seeing some nurse,that he invited me out for a drink one night, and we
> > > ended
> > > > > up
> > > > > > on
> > > > > > > > my sofa necking. We got into bed for about ten minutes or so when I had second
> > > thoughts,
> > > > > > > because
> > > > > > > > of Jake, and threw him out of my apartment. I apologized the next day, and we
> never
> > > did
> > > > > > > anything
> > > > > > > > like that again, although we went out for dinner a few times. He found a steady
> > > > girlfriend
> > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > had a kid with her. He brought the little boy to see me once at my shop,without
> the
> > > > > mother,
> > > > > > > but
> > > > > > > > since then, only calls up at the oddest times, just to say hi and talks really
> > fast,
> > > as
> > > > > if
> > > > > > > he’s
> > > > > > > > nervous. What is strange, is that I was never in love with this guy, but he often
> > > > appears
> > > > > in
> > > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > dreams.
> > > > > > > > Did you ever want to have a kid with one of your exes? Get married? Jake would
> often
> > > > talk
> > > > > > > about
> > > > > > > > marriage when we were first going out, but I wasn’t divorced yet, and we had four
> > kids
> > > > > > between
> > > > > > > > the two of us. Looking back on it, it would have been a terrible idea. The drummer
> > > > wanted
> > > > > to
> > > > > > > get
> > > > > > > > married, too, but Gosling saved me from that. Not to mention that he had
> researched
> > > the
> > > > > dude
> > > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > found out that he had gotten hepatitis C from hisAn coke addiction. I think if I
> > told
> > > > you
> > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > whole story of anything I write, you would think I’m making this all up. It does
> > sound
> > > > > crazy
> > > > > > > to
> > > > > > > > me now. Anyway, marriage is about as terrible a mistake as God in my little book
> of
> > > > > > > experiences.
> > > > > > > > Sometimes I look at the mention ‘divorced’ on some official document I have to
> fill
> > > out,
> > > > > and
> > > > > > > > think ‘free’ would be so much nicer an appellation. Y’all.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >
> >>>>>>>_________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > _
> > > > > _
> > > > > > _
> > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > > > > > Envoyé : mercredi 12 août 2020 17:43
> > > > > > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > > > > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > > > > > > Well, that’s not true about the exes and the sexes being all I remember.
> > > > > > > > One ex had this hilarious way of grunting when going got tough in terms
> > > > > > > > of opening a bottle or some other minor inconvenience. She also had a
> > > > > > > > funny way of yelling “Aargh!” when something broke or fell off a shelf.
> > > > > > > > She sounded like something out a Peanuts strip. She was also awesome in
> > > > > > > > the kitchen to such an extent that I just got out of the way. She was also
> > > > > > > > just easy conversation, and the few times we’ve crossed paths and were
> > > > > > > > able to make polite conversation I remember how cool she is, and it was
> > > > > > > > obvious to me she had similar thoughts about me. We traveled well
> > > > > > > > together, which is supposed to be a sign of a good relationship, but that
> > > > > > > > started breaking down. We went to Philadelphia and there was an episode
> > > > > > > > that would have driven any normal guy to end the relstionship. I felt
> > > > > > > > trapped by non-refundable hotel reservations and such. Under other
> > > > > > > > circumstances I would have just left her there.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > I don’t think I’ve ever had anything as you
> > > > > > > > described with Gosling, where I felt completely at ease with someone,
> > > > > > > > although our correspondences have that air about them. The
> > > > > > > > Muslim girl might be the closest thing. She had been a fan of my websites
> > > > > > > > since she was 13, and practically grew up with them. I took some pride in
> > > > > > > > that. We never had any
> > > > > > > > meaningful contact until she was “of age”, at least not that either of us
> > > > > > > > could remember. She had posted shit like “MARRY ME MARK THOMAS!” and other
> > > > > > > > teenage stuff on my message boards but it was all in fun, and I had no
> > > > > > > > idea who she was or that she lived in the neighborhood. She friended me
> > > > > > > > on Facebook and that’s when the fun began. But any sense of ease was
> > > > > > > > always clouded by the foregone conclusion that we could never go the
> > > > > > > > distance, whatever the hell that meant, and that as far as her family
> > > > > > > > knew I did not exist. Somehow we lasted 2½ years, though.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > If anything I’ve been more comfortable with my exes after they became my
> > > > > > > > exes. I still talk to some of them. One was only 16 when we met, I guess I
> > > > > > > > was 25 or 26. We waited, and had an on-again-off-again thing for I don’t
> > > > > > > > even know how many years.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > As for the job, I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I’m going out in
> > > > > > > > smaller doses. I clocked out after just 3½ hours, was scheduled for 5,
> > > > > > > > which was way too much for a first day. I came home to some web work with
> > > > > > > > a project I’d given up on, and found that web work is way more my thing
> > > > > > > > than going door to door, no surprise whatsoever. Today I should only be
> > > > > > > > out for less than 2 hours.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > Been meaning to say, saw a woman wearing a shirt that said “Y’ALL”. Just
> > > > > > > > that one word.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > On Tue, 11 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > If you can make up people for the census, I thought you might put Alexander and
> > > > Natasha
> > > > > > > > > Whateversky in there so that they might actually show up again, at least to
> vote.
> > > I’ve
> > > > > > > > sometimes
> > > > > > > > > wondered where they disappeared to. So how did it go? I would like that job,
> too,
> > I
> > > > > think.
> > > > > > > I’m
> > > > > > > > > so curious. Although going from door to door would bring back bad memories of my
> > mom
> > > > > > > dragging
> > > > > > > > me
> > > > > > > > > out Saturday mornings to evangelize with those JW magazines. It’s probably the
> > most
> > > > > > shameful
> > > > > > > > > thing I’ve ever done.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > We’ve already talked about Breakfast at Tiffany’s and it remains a nugget of
> > discord
> > > > > > between
> > > > > > > > us.
> > > > > > > > > I just watched it again and I love that movie. I mean, it has everything you
> could
> > > > want:
> > > > > > > > > nostalgic New York in all its splendour of trash cans, Sing Sing, Tiffany’s,
> phone
> > > > booth
> > > > > > > > scenes
> > > > > > > > > (2 of them), cat, yellow cabs, five and dime store, even a splendid 19 at the
> end.
> > > And
> > > > > > > Audrey
> > > > > > > > > Hepburn. George Peppard isn’t too bad, either. The only jarring note was Mickey
> > > Rooney
> > > > > > > playing
> > > > > > > > > that horrible Japanese landlord, who was not funny at all, but otherwise. And I
> > > think
> > > > > you
> > > > > > > are
> > > > > > > > > mistaken to say that Audrey Hepburn represents an ‘entitled’ twad. Annoying and
> > > > > demanding,
> > > > > > > if
> > > > > > > > > you wish, but entitled she was not, neither in the film as a hillbilly girl
> > > pretending
> > > > > to
> > > > > > be
> > > > > > > > an
> > > > > > > > > it girl to survive nor in real life. For that matter, if you cast an obese black
> > > woman
> > > > > to
> > > > > > > play
> > > > > > > > > Marilyn Monroe’s part in ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ it would be as much beside
> the
> > > > > point.
> > > > > > Or
> > > > > > > > an
> > > > > > > > > obese white woman, never mind black. Black would probablybe perceived as zinging
> > it
> > > > with
> > > > > > > sheer
> > > > > > > > > brazen pizzazz (I was going to say pizzass). The whole point of the movie was
> that
> > > the
> > > > > > poor
> > > > > > > > girl
> > > > > > > > > was playing a role she had invented for herself back in Tulip, Texas, or
> wherever,
> > > > while
> > > > > > she
> > > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > stealing turkey eggs as a mistreated kid. She was a ‘real phoney’ as her
> protector
> > > > > called
> > > > > > > her,
> > > > > > > > > and there was a nuance in that ‘real’ from which the character of Holly derives
> > her
> > > > > charm.
> > > > > > > > Both
> > > > > > > > > Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe could play superficial, golddigging women in
> the
> > > > roles
> > > > > > > > > Hollywood gave them, and be loved for it, not because they were beautiful and
> > white,
> > > > but
> > > > > > > > because
> > > > > > > > > they managed to convey the fragility and humanness of the women that society put
> > > into
> > > > > > those
> > > > > > > > > cages. Truman Capote was an amazing writer, I was moved by ‘In Cold Blood,’ too.
> > > > > > > > > There are scenes in the movie which come back to me at moments in my life. Not
> > that
> > > I
> > > > > > > > resemble
> > > > > > > > > Audrey Hepburn in any way. Looking for a cat in the rain. Humming ‘Moon River’.
> > > > > Pilfering
> > > > > > > > > lipstick in the Monoprix. A boyfriend giving you a crackerjack present.
> > > > > > > > > My takeaway from all this is that you are still talking about sex as if it’s all
> > the
> > > > > good
> > > > > > > you
> > > > > > > > > remember about your ex’s. Some of my ex’s might think that, too, but I like to
> > > believe
> > > > > > there
> > > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > something more.
> > > > > > > > > Nice of you, but no thanks for the metallic eyeshadow- it would probably look
> > better
> > > > on
> > > > > > > > > Michelle.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> >>>>>>>>________________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > _
> > > > > _
> > > > > > _
> > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > > > > > > Envoyé : mardi 11 août 2020 16:23
> > > > > > > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > > > > > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > > > > > > > I just remembered the upshot of that Paul Auster story, where he was a
> > > > > > > > > Census taker. So many people refused to talk to him that he just started
> > > > > > > > > making them up, filling in names of people and whole families that never
> > > > > > > > > existed but might as well have. The names of these fabricated people
> > > > > > > > > would surface 76 years later, or however far into the future Census
> > > > > > > > > records become public. I wouldn’t think I’ll get to that point
> > > > > > > > > but who’s to say… I don’t think you can really get away with that, but
> > > > > > > > > then again we are supposed to accept everything anyone says about
> > > > > > > > > themselves no questions asked. So if a white dude identifies himself as a
> > > > > > > > > black female and says his name is Donald Duck we have to record it as
> > > > > > > > > such. If I fill in fictional information and someone catches it I can
> > > > > > > > > just say that this is what whoever answered the questions said.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > The ex and I were going at it 15 times a week in the months before it
> > > > > > > > > ended. Going from that to suddenly celibate was probably a bigger
> > > > > > > > > adjustment for her than me, but in truth when I think about exes I rarely
> > > > > > > > > think of the sex first. There was one little thing the Muslim girl did
> > > > > > > > > that flashes through my mind at unexpected moments: She had a beautiful
> > > > > > > > > smile, and she flashed it every time she undid my pants and my ½-hard cock
> > > > > > > > > popped out. Most incredible sex act I can remember was seeing that
> > > > > > > > > smile, and watching and feeling my cock become part of it. Then she’d get
> > > > > > > > > serious, and so would I. But that moment, that incredible smile and
> > > > > > > > > show of happiness, I loved that. She got so worked up sometimes it was
> > > > > > > > > scary. The more recent exes were beautiful or cute as hell but not the
> > > > > > > > > most proactive lovers. I did most of the work. With the one whose
> > > > > > > > > pictures you saw, that dynamic reflected itself in almost all aspects of
> > > > > > > > > our relationship. I paid for almost everything. She never paid any rent,
> > > > > > > > > and only toward the end did she start picking up the grocery bills, which
> > > > > > > > > were relatively little.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > If I sound like I put sex first it’s probably because I haven’t had real
> > > > > > > > > sex in a while, and I miss it. I see women around now and the mental path
> > > > > > > > > almost always goes down the rabbit hole of imagining what she’d be like,
> > > > > > > > > what she looks like underneath that mask. I genuinely did not put sex
> > > > > > > > > first in any except those encounters where it was all we had to go on. One
> > > > > > > > > of the first women I met from the Internet, I would go to her place in
> > > > > > > > > Virginia and we were just like workerbees. She would say, time and
> > > > > > > > > again, it was the best sex she ever had. That was a long time ago, so I
> > > > > > > > > wonder if that is still true, and if she thinks of it that way. I don’t,
> > > > > > > > > but it was at least worth the travel. She was recently divorced and I
> > > > > > > > > think just needed to get something out of her system… or rather into it,
> > > > > > > > > hah.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > I think physical beauty is over-rated, it gets old fast, and in some
> > > > > > > > > cases, like the stripper girl, it can be a total pain in the ass. She
> > > > > > > > > knew she was beautiful, though it couldn’t have been lost on her that
> > > > > > > > > this gift was fading. She looked so different when I first met her, about
> > > > > > > > > 10 years before we got it on, and finally getting her naked was one of
> > > > > > > > > the great letdowns of my adult life.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > She would become ugly as hell after the third glass
> > > > > > > > > of wine. I saw this on display the very first night I met her, when she
> > > > > > > > > visibly was fawning over another guy at the bar. He rebuffed her, and
> > > > > > > > > after that third glass she started screaming at him, you’d think blood
> > > > > > > > > would start squirting from her eyes she was screaming so hard. I got a
> > > > > > > > > little of that but not so bad. I knew what I was getting into with her,
> > > > > > > > > though.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Audrey Hepburn is often described as beautiful. I’d say that if instead of
> > > > > > > > > her as Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s they’d cast an obese
> > > > > > > > > black woman that movie would look quite different, and Holly would be
> > > > > > > > > seen as the annoying, entitled, demanding twad that she was. A lot of
> > > > > > > > > films have that quality, where you just have to ask why is this man head
> > > > > > > > > over heels in love with this woman? A classic example is Citizen Kane,
> > > > > > > > > where Kane falls for a common hooker with no obvious redeeming qualities.
> > > > > > > > > I can’t remember which plays he referred to T.S. Eliot made such comments
> > > > > > > > > about some of Shakespeare’s plays, saying that men seemed to go gaga for
> > > > > > > > > women who showed no lovable traits. There are no doubt opposite examples,
> > > > > > > > > of women in movies going apeshit over douchebags, but I wouldn’t key into
> > > > > > > > > that as readily.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > I’m kinda rambling, nervous to finally start the Census stuff today. Looks
> > > > > > > > > like I get to canvas a senior center and the projects. Yay. Always
> > > > > > > > > wondered what the insides of some of these places looked like. I’ve seen a
> > > > > > > > > few Census peeps doing their rounds. They all looked bored, and tired. I
> > > > > > > > > guess most people are not used to walking many miles in a day.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > Would you have any interest in a Tarteist Metallic Shadow? It’s in the
> > > > > > > > > package FedEx repeatedly misdelivered here, for someone named Michelle.
> > > > > > > > > Maybe this is the sort of thing you’re not allowed to send
> > > > > > > > > internationally…
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > On Mon, 10 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > That covid photo would be hilarious if it wasn’t so sad. Like a lot of what’s
> > > > > happening
> > > > > > > > > > nowadays, I guess. I also liked the door yawp. Sounds like this are
> > disappearing
> > > > all
> > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > time,
> > > > > > > > > > along with your phone booths. I remember the sound the wooden door to our
> little
> > > > house
> > > > > > in
> > > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > village made. A muted thuddering that shook the whole house every time, since
> > the
> > > > > > > foundation
> > > > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > > hollow between the piles holding it up. It was the house talking, seeing
> > somebody
> > > > off
> > > > > or
> > > > > > > > > letting
> > > > > > > > > > someone in. In the apartment I live in now, the ancient parquet floors creak
> and
> > > > > squeak
> > > > > > > with
> > > > > > > > > > almost every step I take, another nice conversation I have every day.
> Yesterday
> > in
> > > > the
> > > > > > > tram,
> > > > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > had one of those listening moments that sometimes arrive without preamble; an
> > > > audible
> > > > > > > > collage
> > > > > > > > > of
> > > > > > > > > > a man talking in arab on his phone, the ting ting of the tram bell, a slice of
> > > > > > > conversation
> > > > > > > > in
> > > > > > > > > > French next to me and the sudden rumbling lurch of the wagon as we turned a
> > > corner.
> > > > A
> > > > > > > young
> > > > > > > > > girl
> > > > > > > > > > joking with her friend on the way to the grocery store today, “comment
> > allez-vous?
> > > > > > > style…”
> > > > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > caught the joke, even if I didn’t know the context, since nobody ever says
> > > ‘comment
> > > > > > > > > allez-vous?’
> > > > > > > > > > to say ‘how are you?’ – it’s so stiltedly polite and distancing that it could
> > > either
> > > > > > sound
> > > > > > > > > like
> > > > > > > > > > a cold insult or some third degree aristocratic pose a queen might throw out
> > > there.
> > > > > But
> > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > paused
> > > > > > > > > > over how the girl said it, so perfectly and with such ease, that I almost
> wished
> > > > that
> > > > > > > > > expression
> > > > > > > > > > could still be okay. I still marvel at how beautiful the French language is to
> > > > listen
> > > > > > to,
> > > > > > > > > > especially when women speak it. Many French women have sensuously modulated
> > voices
> > > > > that
> > > > > > > can
> > > > > > > > be
> > > > > > > > > > crystalline and velvety; words falling from their lips like petals from roses.
> > > > > Sometimes
> > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > listen to American or Canadian women newscasters, and their voices seem
> > incredibly
> > > > > > > strident,
> > > > > > > > > > harsh and without nuance.
> > > > > > > > > > Marilyn Monroe, however, had a wonderfully soft and tender voice; everything
> she
> > > > said
> > > > > > came
> > > > > > > > out
> > > > > > > > > > like a newborn bird startled to be alive and shivering.
> > > > > > > > > > She said she liked men whistling at her. I remember Katsumi saying that’s what
> > she
> > > > > hated
> > > > > > > > about
> > > > > > > > > > growing up in Grenoble. I tend to agree with Marilyn; it’s a compliment.
> > Whenever
> > > > > > anybody
> > > > > > > > says
> > > > > > > > > > I’m pretty in the street, I always say thank you. Sometimes my kids, when they
> > > were
> > > > > > > little,
> > > > > > > > > > would come home and say “The lady at the cafeteria said I had a very pretty
> > > mother,”
> > > > > or
> > > > > > > > > > something like that, and that would please me even more. I don’t fish for that
> > > kind
> > > > of
> > > > > > > > > > compliment, it always surprises me, as it does every girl who was at one time
> or
> > > > > another
> > > > > > > an
> > > > > > > > > ugly
> > > > > > > > > > duckling growing up. My mother never said I was pretty until she got
> > Alzheimer’s.
> > > > > > > Something
> > > > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > > always wrong with me, according to her standards. My hair was too long, my
> skin
> > > too
> > > > > > dark,
> > > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > > > skirt too short. And then, a couple of years ago, as her memories of me as a
> > child
> > > > and
> > > > > > > > > > adolescent and rebel disappeared, she began to compliment me for the first
> time
> > in
> > > > her
> > > > > > > life.
> > > > > > > > > > When I saw her at the hospital last year, after she had almost died from the
> > > > accident,
> > > > > > she
> > > > > > > > > even
> > > > > > > > > > said I was beautiful and intelligent. It was ironic, after all those years, I
> > > > realized
> > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > didn’t
> > > > > > > > > > need her to say those things to me anymore- it moved me, but I reflected that
> if
> > > she
> > > > > had
> > > > > > > > said
> > > > > > > > > > that when I was seventeen and wanting to die, it might have changed my life
> back
> > > > then.
> > > > > I
> > > > > > > > don’t
> > > > > > > > > > hold anything against her anymore, though.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > Is physical beauty important? Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it can sometimes
> > reflect
> > > > > inner
> > > > > > > > grace.
> > > > > > > > > A
> > > > > > > > > > very ugly person can be beautiful, too, luminous, sometimes. You watch an
> > ordinary
> > > > > > looking
> > > > > > > > > woman
> > > > > > > > > > in the tram who seems bored and banal, then suddenly she smiles at a child,
> and
> > > the
> > > > > > smile
> > > > > > > > > lights
> > > > > > > > > > up her face, transforms it, and you think- anyone can be beautiful. Beauty is
> a
> > > > > moment,
> > > > > > an
> > > > > > > > > > ephemereal baring of the soul like a ray of sunshine, not a constant thing.
> And
> > > it’s
> > > > > > > > > > particularly terrible when a beautiful person becomes ugly with conceit or a
> > scowl
> > > > on
> > > > > > > their
> > > > > > > > > > face.
> > > > > > > > > > My last ex, Gosling, is that Roman sculpture kind of beautiful. He was
> > twenty-nine
> > > > > when
> > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > met
> > > > > > > > > > him nine years ago. I would never have thought it would have lasted this long.
> > It
> > > > > wasn’t
> > > > > > > > just
> > > > > > > > > > the sex; the day after we just met, we were already like two kids building a
> > lego
> > > > > castle
> > > > > > > > > > together, we could feel good just being in each other’s company, doing nothing
> > in
> > > > > > > particular
> > > > > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > > > just laughing and feeling as light as a balloon. He went through all that shit
> > > that
> > > > I
> > > > > > > > thought
> > > > > > > > > > started with his father’s sudden death, but came from way before. Depression,
> > > > anxiety.
> > > > > > > fear.
> > > > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > think I must have loved him a lot to stick with him through some pretty
> > difficult
> > > > > stuff
> > > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > > > substances. But eventually, I learned to take distance from his insoluble
> > > situation
> > > > > > where
> > > > > > > > he’s
> > > > > > > > > > always looking for another way out than to work on himself. He always kept
> > coming
> > > > back
> > > > > > to
> > > > > > > > me,
> > > > > > > > > > though, and we stayed friends. We could sleep together and not even think
> about
> > > sex,
> > > > > > just
> > > > > > > > > cuddle
> > > > > > > > > > and talk. I’m not his mother – he’s finally managed to come to terms with his,
> > but
> > > I
> > > > > do
> > > > > > > feel
> > > > > > > > > > like I’m kind of a surrogate family to him, since we’ve known each other so
> long
> > > and
> > > > > > been
> > > > > > > > > > through so much.
> > > > > > > > > > I remember that I met that drummer ex whose father had escaped from prison,
> when
> > > > > Gosling
> > > > > > > > > decided
> > > > > > > > > > to run off to Thailand. So we officially broke up the night before he left.But
> > he
> > > > came
> > > > > > > back
> > > > > > > > a
> > > > > > > > > > month later with a broken knee from a scooter accident. The drummer had
> already
> > > > > > presented
> > > > > > > me
> > > > > > > > > to
> > > > > > > > > > his whole Spanish gypsy family and wanted to get married, but he was so
> jealous
> > of
> > > > > > Gosling
> > > > > > > > > that
> > > > > > > > > > I changed my mind and dumped him. Maybe he did have his reasons; even if sex
> > > wasn’t
> > > > > the
> > > > > > > most
> > > > > > > > > > important thing in this weird relation, I can get that the dude could be
> jealous
> > > of
> > > > > how
> > > > > > > > close
> > > > > > > > > we
> > > > > > > > > > were. I spent months nursing Gosling back to some semblance of physical
> health,
> > > > > although
> > > > > > > his
> > > > > > > > > > mental state continued to worsen. That was several years ago. He’s gotten a
> > little
> > > > > > better,
> > > > > > > > but
> > > > > > > > > > still runs around in circles.
> > > > > > > > > > We’ve been respectfully distant for a year or so now. But the connection will
> > > always
> > > > > be
> > > > > > > > there;
> > > > > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > wouldn’t know how to define it.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > You seem to describe your relations with women in terms of sexual
> compatibility
> > > > first
> > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > > > foremost. I laughed when you said my last pics made you want to masturbate. I
> > told
> > > > you
> > > > > > > about
> > > > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > ex, (Jake Gyllenhaal doppelganger) I met six months after my ex-husband left
> me.
> > > We
> > > > > > > started
> > > > > > > > > off
> > > > > > > > > > hot from the moment we met at the swimming pool and for three years it was
> sex,
> > > sex
> > > > > and
> > > > > > > sex,
> > > > > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > > > not much else, except fending off our crazy ex’s on both sides and trying to
> > look
> > > > out
> > > > > > for
> > > > > > > > our
> > > > > > > > > > kids. Somehow, the sex with him was so good that nothing else seemed to
> matter.
> > We
> > > > > were
> > > > > > > just
> > > > > > > > > > addicted to each other, could never get enough. (Sounds like it was kind of
> like
> > > > that
> > > > > > with
> > > > > > > > > your
> > > > > > > > > > ex? She does look hot). He introduced me to his mother one Christmas, brought
> > her
> > > > over
> > > > > > to
> > > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > > > place. A sad, gentle lady who had been abused by her husband into total
> > > submission.
> > > > > Jake
> > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > > sweet and protective of her. He said that night that we were his two favourite
> > > women
> > > > > in
> > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > world. I was to find out that there were a lot more women in his world later
> on.
> > > He
> > > > > > > admitted
> > > > > > > > > to
> > > > > > > > > > being a sex addict and would start wanting to talk about his conquests of the
> > > week.
> > > > I
> > > > > > > wasn’t
> > > > > > > > > > into that at all, despite my experiences in the clubs. I never wanted to go to
> a
> > > > club
> > > > > > with
> > > > > > > > > him,
> > > > > > > > > > although thinking back on it now, he would have been an incredible partner to
> do
> > > > that
> > > > > > > with.
> > > > > > > > > Sex
> > > > > > > > > > had been an invisible word between us while we were basking in it’s glory, but
> > > > somehow
> > > > > > > it’s
> > > > > > > > > > being called out took the steam out of it for me. It became something banal,
> > > whereas
> > > > > it
> > > > > > > had
> > > > > > > > > been
> > > > > > > > > > really special, so concentrated between us that I didn’t even mind that he was
> > > > fucking
> > > > > > > other
> > > > > > > > > > women, just that he would talk about it. He said he wanted to get treated for
> > his
> > > > > > > addiction;
> > > > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > kind of doubt he ever did. He called me a few years ago, just wanting to get
> > > > together
> > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > talk
> > > > > > > > > > about old times. But I refused; I think I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist
> that
> > > > > > physical
> > > > > > > > > > magnetic field that came between us and wiped everything else out. That
> > everything
> > > > > else
> > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > > important to me now.
> > > > > > > > > > You used that term ‘having an agenda’: what a terrible thing to have.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >
> >>>>>>>>>_______________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > _
> > > > > _
> > > > > > _
> > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > > > > > > > Envoyé : dimanche 9 août 2020 17:59
> > > > > > > > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > > > > > > > Objet : RE: bonsai rainforest
> > > > > > > > > > A downside to having the door fixed is I no longer get to hear this
> > > > > > > > > > exhilarating, Wookiee-esque yawp that formerly greeted and un-greeted me
> > > > > > > > > > upon entering and leaving. Also, I had to clear space on my phone and
> > > > > > > > > > found this random screenshot I thought you’d appreciate. My screenshots
> > > > > > > > > > are kind of depressing. They are mostly of pretty women I found on dating
> > > > > > > > > > apps last year, most of whom ignored my attempts at connecting, but then
> > > > > > > > > > those who I did actually spend time with are equally depressing. It’s not
> > > > > > > > > > that things didn’t work out, but that they all seemed to have an agenda,
> > > > > > > > > > and their suite of skeptical, even cynical suspicions. I guess that’s
> > > > > > > > > > dating in the realm of women in their 40s and 50s. But the one woman, who
> > > > > > > > > > I might have mentioned, still kind of haunts me. I wanted to bone her
> > > > > > > > > > senseless, and I wasn’t shy about saying so, which in itself was something
> > > > > > > > > > that drew me to her, the fact that I could say such things to her
> > > > > > > > > > acceptance. BUT, after about 6 weeks she finally decided it was time to
> > > > > > > > > > tell me she had recently wired her life savings off to some dating site
> > > > > > > > > > scammer who said he was a Marine held hostage in Afghanistan by ISIS and
> > > > > > > > > > blahblah, story doesn’t matter, upshot was that she wasn’t going for
> > > > > > > > > > anybody who didn’t have a shit ton of money to make her “whole” again. I
> > > > > > > > > > don’t know how but in some way I gave off an impression that I had a lot
> > > > > > > > > > of money, or else she simply wanted to believe that I did. She actually
> > > > > > > > > > was really into me, said I was damned good-looking, just about her
> > > > > > > > > > perfect body type, found my payphone thing to be awesome, said my guided
> > > > > > > > > > tour of the payphones of Lower Manhattan was the most bizarre and unusual
> > > > > > > > > > and interesting date she ever went on. BUT, she had to focus on her new
> > > > > > > > > > reality. Months later a story about payphones crossed the news outlets,
> > > > > > > > > > and she forwarded it to me. But still, the brief re-acquintance had that
> > > > > > > > > > same air of strictness about how deep our connection was allowed to go.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > I also rummaged through other shit on the phone, cached images and
> > > > > > > > > > downloads and all that. I was happy to find your “Happy Feet” picture
> > > > > > > > > > somehow got in there. I don’t usually download anything of ours to the
> > > > > > > > > > phone, since we never communicate through it, so I’m not exactly sure how
> > > > > > > > > > it got there.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > Your Arab Market reminds me how I recently debated with a friend the
> > > > > > > > > > merits and downsides of Steinway Street, which, in this part of Astoria
> > > > > > > > > > at least, is kind of an out-of-place ghetto of night clubs, nude clubs,
> > > > > > > > > > and places frequented by people who don’t live around here. BUT, then
> > > > > > > > > > there is Little Egypt, which feels like the Arab market you describe, as
> > > > > > > > > > close to what I imagine Cairo might feel like, particularly on weekend
> > > > > > > > > > nights, when all the local Arabs come out to the Hookah lounges and crowd
> > > > > > > > > > the streets. It’s really cool, to me at least. Steinway north of the
> > > > > > > > > > Grand Central Parkway just kind of trails off into a dirt road.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > Yah, those N95s are asspensive. The ones I get here for $4 seem pretty
> > > > > > > > > > effective. Pre-pandemic those masks sold for 70¢ each, according to Cuomo,
> > > > > > > > > > who said gouging would not be tolerated but it continues anyway.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > I am not especially handy at fixing things. I probably could have figured
> > > > > > > > > > out how to fix the door myself but hey, I pay my rent, and earned the
> > > > > > > > > > right to get someone else to do it. I get good at things but when
> > > > > > > > > > installing the new showerhead, for instance, I was shaking. I shake and
> > > > > > > > > > tremble in virtually any new activity or situation. With the showerhead I
> > > > > > > > > > could barely get the washers where they needed to be without them landing
> > > > > > > > > > on the floor. I am handy at defrosting the freezer, though, so that’s
> > > > > > > > > > something, right? Hah.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > Let me tell of my recent attempts at good deeds that failed. A misdirected
> > > > > > > > > > package arrived from FedEx, to someone named Danielle, at this exact
> > > > > > > > > > address. I didn’t realize it was FedEx and attempted to return it at the
> > > > > > > > > > USPS. I had to track down a FedEx driver, which was not hard to do. I
> > > > > > > > > > informed him this was misdelivered, and his reaction was so blunt and
> > > > > > > > > > irritable he made me feel bad for even trying. Two days later the package
> > > > > > > > > > re-arrives at my door. It’s from tarte.com, and is probably lipstick or
> > > > > > > > > > something completely unusable to me, just like that giant bottle of lube
> > > > > > > > > > that got misdelivered here.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > In another instance I occasionally receive calls for a student at Park
> > > > > > > > > > East High School in East Harlem. I didn’t really care until Covid 87-68
> > > > > > > > > > came along and more calls started coming with regard to tele-learning and
> > > > > > > > > > it seemed I should do my little part in getting proper communication
> > > > > > > > > > established in these unusual times. I eventually connected with the
> > > > > > > > > > approraite administrator at the school who assured me she had made proper
> > > > > > > > > > changes to their database, but the calls just keep coming. I just got
> > > > > > > > > > another one moments ago, even though I think the student in question here
> > > > > > > > > > graduated in May. Evidently the kid has no phone or home Internet access,
> > > > > > > > > > which is more common in New York than a lot of techies like to admit or
> > > > > > > > > > even believe.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > Your pictures are beautiful, as always, and had the effect of tempting me
> > > > > > > > > > toward resuming masturbation after what I think has been three weeks.
> > > > > > > > > > Temperatures have cooled but the humidity has me sweating buckets any
> > > > > > > > > > time I so much as move. But I’m also just in a existential ramble with
> > > > > > > > > > regard to money, the future, reality. Is that my cum shirt on your
> > > > > > > > > > bed? I keep your panties bedside, and inhale them frequently, as does the
> > > > > > > > > > Scrat, who can’t resist the temptation to bite into them. Good thing the
> > > > > > > > > > teeth are just cloth. I have to get out and find a sadwich. Hah, opened
> > > > > > > > > > the web browser and find I still have the Wikipedia page for Katsuni in a
> > > > > > > > > > browser tab. I downloaded Stagnetti’s Revenge out of curiosity for it
> > > > > > > > > > being one of the most expensive porns ever made. Didn’t draw me in. I used
> > > > > > > > > > to get hot and bothered by Mia Khalifa. She not only resembles my Muslim
> > > > > > > > > > ex but is also Lebanese, as is the ex. I look at her just now and think
> > > > > > > > > > meh… I wouldn’t know of any professional pornsters I’d make a point of
> > > > > > > > > > seeking out.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > On Sat, 8 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I had to look up our covid status here; like most people around me, the heat
> > > wave
> > > > is
> > > > > > > more
> > > > > > > > on
> > > > > > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > > > > mind these last few days, although I’m getting used to it now. There are
> about
> > > > 2000
> > > > > > new
> > > > > > > > > cases
> > > > > > > > > > > today, but mostly in the north of France, including Paris. But also in the
> > > > > departement
> > > > > > > of
> > > > > > > > > > Haute
> > > > > > > > > > > Savoie just east of here. ( a departement is sort of like a county, I
> > suppose),
> > > > Our
> > > > > > > > > > departement,
> > > > > > > > > > > Isère is showing 21 positive cases for 1.3 million people, which is okay.
> They
> > > > found
> > > > > > one
> > > > > > > > > case
> > > > > > > > > > > today in Grenoble- a garbage collector in one of the suburbs who had just
> come
> > > > back
> > > > > > from
> > > > > > > a
> > > > > > > > > > visit
> > > > > > > > > > > to Spain. I suppose it’s reassuring when it gets that precise. Some cities
> are
> > > > > > requiring
> > > > > > > > > masks
> > > > > > > > > > > outdoors, like Marseille or some parts of Paris. I went out twice today and
> > > > observed
> > > > > > > that
> > > > > > > > we
> > > > > > > > > > > wouldn’t need to do that here for the moment at least. There was practically
> > > > nobody
> > > > > in
> > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > > street because of the heat, and also because people in Grenoble usually
> leave
> > > the
> > > > > city
> > > > > > > in
> > > > > > > > > > > August. But I was at the Arab market this morning and there were more
> people;
> > it
> > > > > felt
> > > > > > > good
> > > > > > > > > to
> > > > > > > > > > be
> > > > > > > > > > > in the bustle of voices and smells and colours. You could almost imagine
> > > yourself
> > > > in
> > > > > > > > Morocco
> > > > > > > > > > or
> > > > > > > > > > > Algeria. From what I remember of Marrakech, it’s very similar: the men
> sitting
> > > in
> > > > > > > outside
> > > > > > > > > > cafés
> > > > > > > > > > > drinking coffee in the hot sun, speaking in Arab, the gaudy trinkets and
> > clothes
> > > > > sold
> > > > > > in
> > > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > > stalls, the smell of pickled lemons and olives and the sellers cracking
> jokes
> > > with
> > > > > > each
> > > > > > > > > other
> > > > > > > > > > as
> > > > > > > > > > > the customers wait. Sometimes I buy the Arab bread- round puffy golden
> > semolina
> > > > > disks
> > > > > > > that
> > > > > > > > > are
> > > > > > > > > > > cooked on flat griddles as you wait. But not today, I’m still on my
> watermelon
> > > > > diet.
> > > > > > > > > > > Frankly, I don’t know why the French are always going away on holidays. It’s
> > > just
> > > > as
> > > > > > > > > beautiful
> > > > > > > > > > > and interesting here as almost anywhere. Sometimes I turn the corner after
> the
> > > > > > > bookbinders
> > > > > > > > > > shop
> > > > > > > > > > > and the paulownia tree to come home and I find myself suddenly in the widest
> > > space
> > > > > in
> > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > whole
> > > > > > > > > > > city, which is the Prefecture Square, and the view of those stately old
> > > buildings
> > > > on
> > > > > > all
> > > > > > > > > sides
> > > > > > > > > > > of the square, which used to house not only the prefect on the south side
> but
> > > > army
> > > > > > > > > > headquarters
> > > > > > > > > > > opposite and the law court on the west, always strikes me as monumental.
> This
> > > > > > > afternoon,
> > > > > > > > a
> > > > > > > > > > > little boy was happily wading in the fountain in the middle of the square,
> all
> > > by
> > > > > > > himself,
> > > > > > > > > as
> > > > > > > > > > > his parents watched from a bench in the shade of the linden trees.
> > > > > > > > > > > I get your being nostalgic for the maskless days. My being in a relatively
> > safe
> > > > area
> > > > > > has
> > > > > > > > > > > permitted me to do some of those normal things, like going to the music fest
> > > > > concert,
> > > > > > > > > parties
> > > > > > > > > > > (limited to ten people) and going back to work at the school; things I
> > probably
> > > > > > couldn’t
> > > > > > > > do
> > > > > > > > > if
> > > > > > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > > were living in Paris or Marseille, at least without worry. The thing is, I
> > don’t
> > > > > take
> > > > > > it
> > > > > > > > for
> > > > > > > > > > > granted anymore, though. Even being able to teach kids in person in a
> > classroom
> > > > was
> > > > > a
> > > > > > > joy.
> > > > > > > > > As
> > > > > > > > > > is
> > > > > > > > > > > the sight of people relaxed and laughing in outdoor restaurants and cafés:
> > > > homeless
> > > > > > > dudes
> > > > > > > > > > > throwing me compliments in the street instead of people changing sidewalks
> > when
> > > > they
> > > > > > see
> > > > > > > > me
> > > > > > > > > > > coming.
> > > > > > > > > > > I don’t take videos in the tram, like you did on subways and buses, but I
> like
> > > > > > observing
> > > > > > > > > > people
> > > > > > > > > > > travelling too. Every time I take a tram, I automatically look at every
> single
> > > > > > passenger
> > > > > > > > in
> > > > > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > > wagon I’m on; just a casual glance, but sweeping all the way to the front
> and
> > > the
> > > > > > back.
> > > > > > > > > > > Sometimes, there will be someone of interest: like the young African man
> > singing
> > > > > > > something
> > > > > > > > > > from
> > > > > > > > > > > the Koran softly, under his breath, or a baby smiling in a stroller, or an
> old
> > > man
> > > > > > > talking
> > > > > > > > > to
> > > > > > > > > > > himself. And I listen to wisps of broken conversation and sometimes keep a
> > > phrase
> > > > in
> > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > head
> > > > > > > > > > for
> > > > > > > > > > > a few minutes, turning it over like a shard of pottery.
> > > > > > > > > > > Today, I noticed that the blue surgical masks have become so common to see
> > that
> > > > > people
> > > > > > > > only
> > > > > > > > > > > notice the odd cloth one. Like blue jeans, it becomes this neutral attire
> that
> > > > goes
> > > > > > with
> > > > > > > > > > > anything because it’s the given and we don’t see it anymore.
> > > > > > > > > > > The facemask I sent you is pretty efficient- not washable, though. You can
> > just
> > > > air
> > > > > it
> > > > > > > out
> > > > > > > > > by
> > > > > > > > > > > hanging it like laundry for a day and it should be good for quite awhile. If
> > you
> > > > > ever
> > > > > > > need
> > > > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > > most protective mask available, more comfortable than a N95, you can order
> it
> > > > here:
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > https://n95maskco.com/collections/n95-masks?sscid=81k4_879j2&
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > It’s pretty expensive, but I would get one if I had to take a flight
> > somewhere,
> > > > for
> > > > > > > > example.
> > > > > > > > > > > Which will not be soon. My mom seems to be doing okay. She was laughing and
> > > trying
> > > > > to
> > > > > > > say
> > > > > > > > > > > something to us the last time I saw her on zoom. there is still a fourteen
> day
> > > > > > > quarantine
> > > > > > > > > for
> > > > > > > > > > > going to Canada.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I read one of Paul Auster’s most recent books, 4321 a few months ago. It was
> > > okay,
> > > > > but
> > > > > > > it
> > > > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > > > one of those books, I wish I had taken it out at the library instead of
> buying
> > > it.
> > > > > > > > However,
> > > > > > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > am
> > > > > > > > > > > glad to have a copy of Peter Wohlleben’s ‘The Secret Life of Trees’. And –
> I’m
> > > > glad
> > > > > > you
> > > > > > > > > > believe
> > > > > > > > > > > that plants have emotions. It’ll make up for the fact that you are not
> > > interested
> > > > in
> > > > > > > > fixing
> > > > > > > > > > > doors. 😊 I don’t know why, but I had this thing for guys who like fixing
> > > things.
> > > > > > Maybe
> > > > > > > > > > because
> > > > > > > > > > > of my dad. He did that for a living, and going down to the wharf to watch
> him
> > > > work,
> > > > > I
> > > > > > > > > > developed
> > > > > > > > > > > this early respect for people who had the patience to coax inanimate objects
> > > back
> > > > to
> > > > > > > > working
> > > > > > > > > > > life. I guess that must be it.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > 1819 does have a harmonious ring to it; looks good and sounds good, don’t
> you
> > > > > think?
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I can just imagine a sad you eating a sadwich, and somehow it makes me
> smile,
> > > like
> > > > a
> > > > > > > > double
> > > > > > > > > > > negative becoming a positive, I hope it did for you.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > Haven’t taken many pics lately, looking hot and tired, but here’s a couple I
> > > just
> > > > > took
> > > > > > > for
> > > > > > > > a
> > > > > > > > > > > cookie.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >
> >>>>>>>>>>______________________________________________________________________________________
> _
> > _
> > > _
> > > > _
> > > > > _
> > > > > > _
> > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > > > _
> > > > > > > > > > > De : mark thomas <sorabji@sorabji.com>
> > > > > > > > > > > Envoyé : samedi 8 août 2020 17:20
> > > > > > > > > > > À : elena uyeno <elena-uyeno@hotmail.fr>
> > > > > > > > > > > Objet : Re: bonsai rainforest
> > > > > > > > > > > I believe plants have emotions. If you haven’t heard of it you might also
> > > > > > > > > > > find the “Wood Wide Web” interesting:
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >
> https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/the-whispering-trees-180968084/
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I’m bummed about the Census gig so far. No assignments because they say
> > > > > > > > > > > not enough workload. Maybe they overhired. I suspected they got a deluge
> > > > > > > > > > > of applicants after the pandemic put a lot of people out of work. I was
> > > > > > > > > > > also in the last class of the day at the in-person orientation, so I don’t
> > > > > > > > > > > know if that put me at the end of the line for assignments. If they’re not
> > > > > > > > > > > going to call me I don’t know if I should commit to this.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > Also bummed that the Schroeder facemask arrived, but without Schroeder. It
> > > > > > > > > > > resembles the mask shown in that picture I sent you, from the eBay
> > > > > > > > > > > listing, but it’s not exactly the same. It’s quite comfortable, though, as
> > > > > > > > > > > is the one you sent. I meant to ask, is the one you sent
> > > > > > > > > > > washable/reusable?
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > In response to not working the census yesterday I walked, and walked, and
> > > > > > > > > > > walked, though not for any made-up or gratuitous reason. I wanted to avoid
> > > > > > > > > > > being present when the owner of the building came to fix my door. I don’t
> > > > > > > > > > > like the owner. He doesn’t dislike me but thinks I’m a drunk. He’s old
> > > > > > > > > > > enough to be my father, which I think plays into the dynamic between
> > > > > > > > > > > us, in which he treats me like a child. His son, same age as me, said
> > > > > > > > > > > to be a picture of health, dropped dead a few years ago. He also had
> > > > > > > > > > > lived in this apartment before me, fo 10 years. Anyway, I had
> > > > > > > > > > > to call him because the front door was coming close to falling off its
> > > > > > > > > > > hinges. This actually happened a long time ago, maybe 15+ years, and I
> > > > > > > > > > > didn’t want that to happen again, and i don’t know how to fix shit like
> > > > > > > > > > > that.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > This time I had the ability to spy on him. He did what he always does,
> > > > > > > > > > > barged in and inspected the bathroom and maybe the bedroom, the spy camera
> > > > > > > > > > > doesn’t see around that corner so I’m not certain what he was looking at
> > > > > > > > > > > or for. I don’t think he’d been in here for 3 years. He fixed the door,
> > > > > > > > > > > so that’s a little triumph. I don’t like being around him because he makes
> > > > > > > > > > > me feel bad, like I’m the biggest slob he’s ever seen, when I’m simply not
> > > > > > > > > > > that at all.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I did not notice that about the license plate but had been meaning to say
> > > > > > > > > > > I saw a number on another that might be perfect: 1819. Not the stroke of
> > > > > > > > > > > genius that 18+1 was, and always will be, but a nice merger of two
> > > > > > > > > > > perfections. There is no 18119 zip code in the US but there is one
> > > > > > > > > > > Germany. I have regretted that whenever I go to the 181 these days I
> > > > > > > > > > > intend to look for pure 19s on either side of 5th Avenue. 5th is where the
> > > > > > > > > > > east and west sides of Manhattan begin, and thus it’s where the building
> > > > > > > > > > > numbers start at 1. But I always seem to forget to scout out 19s.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > There is another vagary of Queens street addresses I may have mentioned.
> > > > > > > > > > > The first number is the cross street, the second the building number. The
> > > > > > > > > > > first building is usually -01, sometimes not, but what’s weird is how many
> > > > > > > > > > > buildings are numbered -00. I wouldn’t think many cities have street
> > > > > > > > > > > addresses of zero, or double-zero. Just not a prestigious sounding
> > > > > > > > > > > location: 0 Riverside Drive, or 0 Fifth Avenue.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > Paul Auster wrote a story about his days as a Census worker. They sent him
> > > > > > > > > > > to Harlem, I think in the 1960s, and all any of the residents could do was
> > > > > > > > > > > laugh when they saw a skinny white guy at their door with a clipboard and
> > > > > > > > > > > a government-issued badge. He said nobody talked to him. He had other
> > > > > > > > > > > funny anecdotes as well but I haven’t read that story in a long time.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > Not really feeling communicable today, or lately. If the Census thing
> > > > > > > > > > > fails to materialize I’m not sure what would be next. Oh, I got a job as a
> > > > > > > > > > > poll worker, for the November 3 election. That should be a gas. Voting
> > > > > > > > > > > will likely be heavier than usual but in-person turnout probably not so
> > > > > > > > > > > much, with mail-in or other absentee voting expected to be much more
> > > > > > > > > > > widely used than usual.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I saw a passing mention that France has seen an uptick in Covid 11+8
> > > > > > > > > > > cases, but it didn’t say where exactly. Have you heard such things?
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I discovered yesterday that 9 years ago I recorded a billion hours of
> > > > > > > > > > > low-quality video on the subways and buses. I used a keychain spycam that
> > > > > > > > > > > virtually no one would be expected to recognize as a camera. I guess my
> > > > > > > > > > > intent was simply to document everyday transit and the monotony of it.
> > > > > > > > > > > It’s a lot of people glued to their phones. There is something Zensuous
> > > > > > > > > > > about watching fellow subway riders in a way you’d probably not do in
> > > > > > > > > > > person.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > But my immediate reaction to it was a sediment to which I don’t consider
> > > > > > > > > > > myself susceptible: Nostalgia. I miss masklessness. I never thought I’d
> > > > > > > > > > > miss seeing people touch their faces then grab subway poles without the
> > > > > > > > > > > gesture informed by a whiff of wrongness. I miss people laughing,
> > > > > > > > > > > coughing, sneezing without my now-reflex reaction of calculating how far
> > > > > > > > > > > their droplets might travel, stopping breathing, and checking how secure
> > > > > > > > > > > my mask is. BUT, they say subways and buses are not believed to be serious
> > > > > > > > > > > conduits for transmission, nor airplanes.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > I have a lot of other work today, I guess, in lieu of the Census thing not
> > > > > > > > > > > happening. Feeling a bit down. Maybe a sandwich will fix that. Here is one
> > > > > > > > > > > of my favorite spelling gaffes: SADWICH.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > On Fri, 7 Aug 2020, elena uyeno wrote:
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > I’m never bored by your dreams. I found your latest one beautiful.
> > Especially
> > > > > since
> > > > > > > > there
> > > > > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > > > > that bonsai rainforest in it and even the cow shitting on the advertising
> > > screen
> > > > > > > seemed
> > > > > > > > a
> > > > > > > > > > > > healthy, natural event. I’m thinking that particularly vivid dreams often
> > come
> > > > > when
> > > > > > > > > there’s
> > > > > > > > > > > some
> > > > > > > > > > > > kind of change or imminent evolution in ourselves, so it may be a good,
> > > hopeful
> > > > > > sign.
> > > > > > > > > > > Especially
> > > > > > > > > > > > leaving eaten-up brains of a NYClink kiosk behind.
> > > > > > > > > > > > I’m not remembering any of my dreams lately, mainly because I’m waking up
> > > > quickly
> > > > > > and
> > > > > > > > > > jumping
> > > > > > > > > > > > out of bed instead of lying there trying to piece them together again. And
> > > they
> > > > > > don’t
> > > > > > > > seem
> > > > > > > > > > > > particularly vivid or as interesting as yours, anyways.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > All of my friends here are away on holidays somewhere, so I’ve been
> > puttering
> > > > > around
> > > > > > > > with
> > > > > > > > > > > myself
> > > > > > > > > > > > the last couple of days, or more to the point, puttering in my Jungle (see
> > > > > photos),
> > > > > > > > which
> > > > > > > > > is
> > > > > > > > > > > > taking as much hold on my consciousness as your bonsai rainforest.
> Actually,
> > a
> > > > > > bonsai
> > > > > > > > > > > rainforest
> > > > > > > > > > > > should be in MY dreams, Mark. Maybe you dreamed it for me. I think I told
> > you
> > > > that
> > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > > > > > grandfather had a bonsai garden in Japan, and I grew up in the rainforest
> of
> > > > > > northern
> > > > > > > > > > Canada,
> > > > > > > > > > > so
> > > > > > > > > > > > it’s something I can immediately visualize in my mind as being something
> > > > > incredibly
> > > > > > > > > > > beautiful.
> > > > > > > > > > > > Apart from spending hours every day looking after my plants or just
> looking
> > at
> > > > > them,
> > > > > > > I’m
> > > > > > > > > > also
> > > > > > > > > > > > reading a book called ‘The Hidden Emotions of Plants’. The tidbit about
> the
> > NY
> > > > > Times
> > > > > > > > > killing
> > > > > > > > > > > > woodbugs came from that. There is also an interesting chapter about how
> > music
> > > > > > affects
> > > > > > > > > > plants.
> > > > > > > > > > > > Some of it may seem like pseudo-science malarkey, but the idea that plants
> > can
> > > > > > > > > communicate,
> > > > > > > > > > > feel
> > > > > > > > > > > > and act in relation to humans seems naturally logical to me.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > What words would they use? Here’s a lapsus I found recently in some
> > > commentary
> > > > on
> > > > > > > > > > > > youtube:[IMAGE]
> > > > > > > > > > > > Maybe our sentiments are better off becoming sediments sometimes. Filtered
> > > down
> > > > to
> > > > > > > clear
> > > > > > > > > > > water.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > There’s also this one:
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > [IMAGE]
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > Never get confined in somebody else, hoo! Bad enough as it is in the new
> > > normal
> > > > > > > world.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > You can still tell I’m on holidays and letting loose ends fly. I also
> spent
> > > two
> > > > > > hours
> > > > > > > > > > > listening
> > > > > > > > > > > > to some dude recite his alternative ending to Game of Thrones the other
> > night:
> > > > > that
> > > > > > is
> > > > > > > > > > > hardcore
> > > > > > > > > > > > dork stuff, but it wasn’t too bad, except I wouldn’t have had Tormund die
> in
> > > the
> > > > > > > battle
> > > > > > > > > with
> > > > > > > > > > > the
> > > > > > > > > > > > White Walkers. That’s my sediment, and you probably truly wouldn’t care.
> > since
> > > > you
> > > > > > > > haven’t
> > > > > > > > > > > > watched the series.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > Going door to door in New York reminds me of what Oskar, the nine year old
> > boy
> > > > did
> > > > > > in
> > > > > > > > > > > ‘Extremely
> > > > > > > > > > > > Loud & Incredibly Close’ by Jonathan Safran Foer. He finds a key in an
> > > envelope
> > > > > > marked
> > > > > > > > > > > ‘Black’,
> > > > > > > > > > > > left by his dead father and decides to visit all the Blacks he finds in
> the
> > > New
> > > > > York
> > > > > > > > phone
> > > > > > > > > > > book,
> > > > > > > > > > > > in order to find the person who might know what lock the key is for. I
> loved
> > > > that
> > > > > > > book.
> > > > > > > > > And
> > > > > > > > > > it
> > > > > > > > > > > > makes me think your census work if you decide to do it, could be great
> > > material
> > > > > for
> > > > > > > > > writing
> > > > > > > > > > a
> > > > > > > > > > > > story.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > Did you notice that the car in your Arboreal Carnage photo had the licence
> > > plate
> > > > > > > number
> > > > > > > > > > > 2+6+8+3?
> > > > > > > > > > > > The poor trees. I heard that one man was also killed by a tree falling on
> > his
> > > > car
> > > > > as
> > > > > > > he
> > > > > > > > > was
> > > > > > > > > > > > sitting in it. Isaiah was a particularly vehement and long-winded prophet,
> > as
> > > I
> > > > > > > remember
> > > > > > > > > > from
> > > > > > > > > > > my
> > > > > > > > > > > > reading of the bible. I’m wondering if the man sitting in the car wasn’t
> the
> > > > > person
> > > > > > > > > working
> > > > > > > > > > > for
> > > > > > > > > > > > the United Nations who came up with that silly name for a hurricane. That
> > > would
> > > > > have
> > > > > > > > been
> > > > > > > > > a
> > > > > > > > > > > > biblical irony.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > Sleep well, Cookie
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >
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