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A newborn fist for a heart and fishes start from my eyes
There was a beautiful foggy view over the Charles from the Red Line this afternoon: mist and cloud making up for melted snow.
I slept in two uneasy shifts and had peculiar dreams: like a cross between a supernatural long game and a beloved turn-of-the-century school story, classical references everywhere. Nobody turned out to be Sappho, but metaphysically the sculptor doing neoclassical portraits of Greek-reading girls (I remember them as white-ground and red-figure vase paintings) maybe should have been. Some kind of tragedy between two of the masters. Queerness everywhere, it might go without saying. I remember moments even more than scenes, flash-framed: an archaeological dig beneath the right of way of a disused railway line, a lamplit picnic after dark, two men embracing in a classroom empty except for a chalkboard and a high cold wash of winter light. Nobody changed shape where I could see, though one of the girls was composing her own Metamorphoses. I don't know if it ended before I woke up.
I am about to chop an inordinate amount of dried and candied fruit. Then I am going to light candles. Chag sameach, all.
I slept in two uneasy shifts and had peculiar dreams: like a cross between a supernatural long game and a beloved turn-of-the-century school story, classical references everywhere. Nobody turned out to be Sappho, but metaphysically the sculptor doing neoclassical portraits of Greek-reading girls (I remember them as white-ground and red-figure vase paintings) maybe should have been. Some kind of tragedy between two of the masters. Queerness everywhere, it might go without saying. I remember moments even more than scenes, flash-framed: an archaeological dig beneath the right of way of a disused railway line, a lamplit picnic after dark, two men embracing in a classroom empty except for a chalkboard and a high cold wash of winter light. Nobody changed shape where I could see, though one of the girls was composing her own Metamorphoses. I don't know if it ended before I woke up.
I am about to chop an inordinate amount of dried and candied fruit. Then I am going to light candles. Chag sameach, all.
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The dream sounds as lovely as the foggy view--which in turn sounds equally dreamlike.
I was admiring the fog this afternoon, then heard geese and looked up, and there were several skeins of them intersecting like intersecting ripples--it was beautiful. At moments like that I wish I could simply say "click" and have a photo.
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That is awesome.
Chag sameach!
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TBD was so excited about Hanukkah, they spent a couple minutes running through the house crying "Eeeeeeeeeee! Eeeeeeeee!" before we lit candles. They got to light the first candle (though not the shamas). I got a small packet of construction paper for folding and a tin of Emergency Googly Eyes.
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