So, things appear to be calming down after moving back from the apartment to the house. But inner turmoil one always has to surmount.
“I grow old… I grow old…” But I prefer the bottoms of my trousers tapered and tailored!
Going through my pile of books by Gabriel García Márquez – no other way am I going to be able to read through my shelves than by committing myself to reading projects – I am reminded how poignantly Márquez sees through people, ignoring their feints and dissolving their sleights of hand.
But in a world where everything is confessed and brandished, I hold my tongue.
This must be how it feels to live forever: to be an invisible photobomber.
To not care or bother with other’s foibles. Sometimes even one’s own.
But I am telling you, the quill is sharper than ever.
Even if you smell my feet, you will never suspect where I’ve been.
What I’m thinking and considering. Do clairvoyants converse in silence?