Tiptoe on the Misty Mountain Tops

Another night, another flight. The familial connections strike gold once more as the airfare out West totals $19 as opposed to $620. Glorious.

The last trip from here to there occurred on the memorable and historic 060504. Now I must see off Gongshow to his marital end in style, ye olde Ship and Anchor at your service, and also to breathe in the majestic air of the Banff moutains in walks among the clouds.

MARK ANTONY
Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon't, that nod unto the world,
And mock our eyes with air:
thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper's pageants.

EROS
Ay, my lord,

MARK ANTONY
That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.

EROS
It does, my lord.

MARK ANTONY
My good knave Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony:
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt: and the queen,
--Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine;
Which whilst it was mine had annex'd unto't
A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.

Ah yes - to be lost amidst clouds fickle and insubstantial. On a TFI at that. Yes. For, like Paris, is not our favorite festive day a moveable feast? See you tonight old man. My first rum and coke shall be at 35,000 ft above the prairies.

a little bit of Byzantium

Oh you easyjet and your accessible fares. I may have just found the plan for December that will fulfill an old traveling vow and serve as Prelude to the great Silk Road trek imagined for 2009. For I received an email from the poet Yardimci this morning that confirms his ability to accommodate, and my does he not have a way with run-on words that builds excitement:

So u should definitely make it guys that time. It is fine with me. Even I cant join u in the day time. I will take u out on the nights to Bosphorus or all others. There are loads to do in Istanbul. Many things to do. U should get a Lonely Planet Guide. I can assure u u will have enjoyable time with everything mixed a little bit of Ottoman a
little bit of East Roman a little bit of Byzantium a little bit of Jewish way of living. little bit of Islam, little bit of Mevlana, a bit of Belly dancing, a bit of eating scrumptious food, some sea view, ghetto way of living, agia sophia, well by that time I think there will be snow really.

Beautiful. And just a short jaunt from Istanbul to the cave hotels of Cappadocia and the caravanserais and a land of true foreign mystery. I swear I love planning trips almost more than I enjoy embarking on them. Though I suppose it is the knowledge that I will be following the path dreamed up, set out, and booked from this cubicle that fills the planning with such exhilaration. My will be done.

Like No Other Place

Sometimes you wake up in the morning hungover and it is glorious. You look out the window at a gray sky, but within the mind floweth over with words, words, words and it seems only a few hours until the end of the work week and the next celebratory drink. Seems because it is.

I managed to lose most of those beautiful phrases that were coursing through my head earlier, although impossible to forget walking past that guy this morning and his "Claymore, North Carolina - a great town!" t-shirt. There is an infinite amount of randomness. And the search for more is intoxication itself.

Last night at Rogue's Roost, I indiscreetly added Samarkand to the third rope ladder, having previously done written Oxford a year or so before that dream could be realized. The timing is right, and I see things shaping up nicely. In fact, an initial foray onto the great Silk Road could come as early as this December with a chance at the long-awaited, much-anticipated Istanbul. Combine that with Rumi's 800th birthday in his home town of Konya and the cave hotels of Cappadocia and the epic nature of the trip almost writes itself, no? Plus in the shorter term, it might just be possible to get to Toronto on September 8-9 to see the Smashing Pumpkins and the Killers. Gotta gotta be down because I want it all.

Off for the Guinness. Before, here's my favorite of quotes, up there with Master Beckett, for I could not find it posted on the internet last night. I have also sent a friend traveling through Kilkenney this weekend on a mission to Shem Lawlor's pub to see if The Curve of the Earth's Shoulders is still there. Where the dream began. Surely it must be still:

"To me, Samarkand like no other place had always been the final distillation of romance - beautiful, mysterious, remote - indeed at the very end of the Earth - a place of great but harsh events, its origins lost in pre-history, occupied by Alexander the Great, pillaged by the golden horde, a capital of the world, dominion of Tameplane, stronghold of the Silk Road to China, gateway to the roof of the world, a place much longed for and for years utterly unattainable. But one warm April in 1960, there we were."

They even picked the month for me. Substitute 2009 for 1960, and that sounds just about perfect. Enjoy your TFI. Starting in September it is 50P a pint again. Who knows, maybe I'll swing through on my way to Istanbul...

Of Susurrous Mirth and Cerulean Juvenescence

And the nonpareil. I had it written and I was drunk. It may now be Saturday. And? I got drunk further and the emotions are mixed. She just smokes her cigarettes.

So I picked "Juvenescent" as the most beautiful word in the English language today - closing off another rite of the ending summer. Admittedly not the most technically beautiful, but I like how dictionary.com links it to the word elixir. It also has that wistful and winsome nostalgic aspect to it since we know the truth of it is impossible, thus granting the word itself a touch of the melancholy that I like Baudelaire feel is a central component of all things beautiful. There lies my justification and I shall go no further.


Honourable mentions, though, for cerulean tinctures and susurrous mirth. Mirth in particular I almost gave the title to, considering the definition as often exceeding the limits of reason or propriety, into "mirthquakes".

And in honour of J-luc:

First Murderer appears at the door

Macbeth
See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.
Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst:
Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure
The table round.

Approaching the door

There's blood on thy face.

First Murderer
'Tis Banquo's then.

Macbeth
'Tis better thee without than he within.
Is he dispatch'd?

First Murderer
My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.

Macbeth
Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good
That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.

For Jack Maple, who lived it

Home. And everything, even the sunny Friday afternoon out my window, remains depressingly the same as it was left. Call it the hangover of a blessed trip, with the added touch that my heart needs some time to mend now that there is nothing definitive on the horizon to look toward. And no clear sign on how to change that, the stars last night failing to provide an answer. I wonder if we can wait until 2009?

For a long time I have avoided the temptation posed by the casino that I can see from my window. Today seems a day in which you could start with $50 at the blackjack tables and really go the distance or bust out trying. As it is about lunch time, and with nothing really serious on the desk until the Monday, it might be time to see if fortune is onside. And if not, there is always the Bourne Ultimatum matinee at 3:40. Not the ideal way to spend a TFI, but after last week with the Jupiler and amongst the cobblestones and aimless Manhattans last night, it seems appropriate. Too many similar monuments to mock my return, not enough work to keep me occupied, and Daly doesn't tee-off until late afternoon at the PGA.

But stop what you are doing, take a drink from the keg of glory, and breathe. It is Friday, after all. And All's Well tomorrow night.

LAFEU
They say miracles are past; and we have our
philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar,
things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that
we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming
knowledge, when we should submit
ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAROLLES
Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath
shot out in our latter times.

BERTRAM
And so 'tis.

LAFEU
To be relinquish'd of the artists,--

PAROLLES
So I say.

LAFEU
Both of Galen and Paracelsus.

PAROLLES
So I say.

LAFEU
Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES
Right; so I say.

LAFEU
That gave him out incurable,--

PAROLLES
Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

LAFEU
Not to be helped,--

PAROLLES
Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a--

LAFEU
Uncertain life, and sure death.

PAROLLES
Just, you say well; so would I have said.

LAFEU
I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

PAROLLES
It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you
shall read it in--what do you call there?

LAFEU
A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.

PAROLLES
That's it; I would have said the very same.

LAFEU
Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me,
I speak in respect--

PAROLLES
Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the
brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most
facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the--

LAFEU
Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES
Ay, so I say.

Day Three

On the train for magical Bruxelles in about 49 minutes - let's hope it lives up to the promise of the last time: Until then, some more Hemingway for your TFI:

The fiesta was really started: It kept up day and night for seven days: The dancing kept up, the drinking kept up, the noise went on. The things that happened could only have happened during a fiesta. Everything became quite unreal finally and it seemed as though nothing could have any consequences. It seemed out of plqce to think of consequences during the fiesta. All during the fiesta you had the feeling, even when it was quiet, that you had to shout any remark to make it heard. It was the same feeling about any action. It was a fiesta and it went on for seven days.