On the one hand I feel like almost nothing happened this week, and on the other if that were true I don't think I'd feel like a freight train had used me as a sidetrack. Speaking of which, I have been hearing whistles again in the night. For a long time, whether because of the pandemic or the GLX, they were rare.
I believe![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks and I may have had a date at the beginning of the week, although I have never thought of dating protocols as relevant to my life. We drove seaward after dark and fetched up at Halford Beach in Winthrop just as the tide was turning; we sat on concrete slabs and rain-misted granite boulders and watched the white wave-break of the shingle reveal itself full of slipper shells and bladderwrack and utterly failed to notice the actual, invitingly scenic bench located farther around the slope from the steps that led down to the cobbles, the kelp, and the sea. I walked to the tide-line and touched the water; it doesn't feel like visiting the ocean otherwise. On the way home, we inadvertently drove onto Deer Island, which I had not realized owed its peninsula to the hurricane of 1938 as opposed to engineers. We rediscovered Route 145 and made it home in time for me to leave my phone in his car.
Courtesy ofashlyme, I have learned there is to be a new novel by Alan Garner. I haven't read anything of his since Boneland (2012). I keep meaning to circle back for Thursbitch (2003) and Where Shall We Run To? (2018).
I just found a note I left for myself in the fall of 2017: "All movies are spirit photography, all books are séances eventually." I wish I knew what had I had been planning to do with the sentiment, other than agree with it. I am more confused in all senses about "A golem is not unlike an art-punk remix of rocks."
I believe
rushthatspeaks and I may have had a date at the beginning of the week, although I have never thought of dating protocols as relevant to my life. We drove seaward after dark and fetched up at Halford Beach in Winthrop just as the tide was turning; we sat on concrete slabs and rain-misted granite boulders and watched the white wave-break of the shingle reveal itself full of slipper shells and bladderwrack and utterly failed to notice the actual, invitingly scenic bench located farther around the slope from the steps that led down to the cobbles, the kelp, and the sea. I walked to the tide-line and touched the water; it doesn't feel like visiting the ocean otherwise. On the way home, we inadvertently drove onto Deer Island, which I had not realized owed its peninsula to the hurricane of 1938 as opposed to engineers. We rediscovered Route 145 and made it home in time for me to leave my phone in his car.Courtesy of
ashlyme, I have learned there is to be a new novel by Alan Garner. I haven't read anything of his since Boneland (2012). I keep meaning to circle back for Thursbitch (2003) and Where Shall We Run To? (2018).I just found a note I left for myself in the fall of 2017: "All movies are spirit photography, all books are séances eventually." I wish I knew what had I had been planning to do with the sentiment, other than agree with it. I am more confused in all senses about "A golem is not unlike an art-punk remix of rocks."
