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Monthly Archives: July 2014

Latergram.



I’ve been engrossed in Brueggemann on the Old Testament in my spare time this summer, and it’s been fascinating. I’m enthralled by the way the world works, which is, a dialectical, dialogical, not at all logical “Way the World Works” kind of way; comforting assertions that life is just as strange and interesting as it seems.

I’ve been thinking, too, about J. K. Rowling, and how she was actually perhaps right to make Harry Potter all about love and friendship and so on. It is a very strange thing, when you consider it, especially from a continent away: Why do humans become so attached to other human beings? We’re all just little human beans, not too unique or kind, but we wrap ourselves around each other in the funniest ways. I think it’s good.

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Snippet.

June 13th

Typing to you from Toronto today; I was supposed to be midway across aerial Canada by now, but, you know how these things go.

 
April — ?

I’ll miss Joe: the elbows-in, quick, darting movements; the rushes; and scooping deep into five-pound bags of coffee beans, inhaling deeply the smell of coffee, coffee, coffee. Bottomless free coffees, trying weird new combinations of chocolate and chai syrups and tiny iced cortados, and nibbling broken vegan chocolate-chip cookies behind the counter.

 
Yesterday, as it’s 1:29am now. I didn’t know black tea was so caffeinated.

“It’s the only time I don’t give back what I’ve stolen.”
Adam Green, A Pickpocket’s Tale

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Ex-pat.



Writing to you on the Fourth of July from Vancouver, Canada — for yes, dear reader, I’ve moved. I packed two bags and moved with them across the continent, switching coasts and countries, and I didn’t even bring a suitcase. (The three boxes of books arrive next week.)

I haven’t much to say, much to share. My job has me thinking and writing all day, so my brain craves fiction — an unfamiliar feeling. I reread The End of the Affair on the plane, and then, my hunt for more Graham Greene foiled by the small bookstore down the street, J. G. Ballard’s Empire of the Sun (not my favorite), then — triumph! — Greene in The Tenth Man, and now, I’m beginning Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. I adore it already, and it made me a friend in the chain-bookstore cashier, too.

 
Signing off early: it’s been a busy three weeks. More soon — don’t I always say that? Why do you stick around?

 

P.S. Photos recycled, which I believe is a terrible travesty, but my parents haven’t seen them, at least. Vancouver x2, and a weekend whirl in Seattle. beautiful.

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