I once held Enrico Caruso’s shoe…
This is a very strange life. I was presented with the great tenor’s shoe. It was heavy. In fact it was the heaviest shoe I’d ever held. To think of the man above it melting spheres by singing aloud the scribblings of Puccini, the shoe anchoring him to earth…
Ah, the buttermilk in the far north…
Let us be as voluble and engaging as the magpies.
This is a very strange life. Fish swim through our souls. Outside our doors ants are preparing for winter.
I kid you not.
My neighbor walks about like a man who might shoulder a palanquin.
This is a very strange life.
Keep the television off.
Avoid the warehouses of rage and loss.