August 11th, 2001

The reason Sava is nomadic.

Seattle. 55th Street NE at Ravenna. Somebody reclaimed a 7-Eleven that had at one time usurped somebody's house, so the view from the street was a return to zero. But inside, they took out the Slurpee machine, the cigarette display, and all the other trimmings of the faceless merchandizing conglomerate, and put in a couch, a table, some lawn chairs outside, a barista, and get this: they let college students run up a tab. (Credit. I was floored.) Later developments included a fledgling produce section, a humidor, and a small shelf of books for sale.

I have yet to figure out where these mom-and-pop shops get their books. Two of the five I picked up, true to form, had cancelled King County Library insignia inside of them, but the lineage of the other three remains unfortunately obscure: they're all fantastic books that could probably be found together nowhere else:
Lem, Stanislaw. Solaris.
Bierce, Ambrose. The devil's dictionary.
Brautigan, Richard. Trout fishing in America.
Brautigan, Richard. In watermelon sugar.
Masonry defined, hardback, printed 1925.
It is for finding books like the fourth one that I cannot become sedentary. Similar circumstances involve other life-altering titles falling into my hands, such as James. P. Carse's Finite and infinite games (at a curiosity shoppe where I pulled off the road because of a torrential rainstorm, Bellingham, Washington), Eugene Ionesco's Rhinoceros (garage sale, Colorado Springs), and Mihailo Dordevic's Anthology of Serbian poetry: the golden age (midnight street fair, Bakersfield, California).

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    Laibach - Leben heisst Leben

Not right.

Decided it was time for some raisin bran, so I walked down to Front Street Market and picked up a box and some milk to go with it, looking forward to my midnight snack the entire walk back. It was only when I had put the cereal into the white stoneware bowl and poured the milk over the top that I realized: I don't own any spoons. So that's how I came to eat my raisin bran with chopsticks. The funny thing is, it works. Kinda.

I've been thinking of some way to retaliate against lumivalkoinen for the beautiful Saki book. For the midnight walk to the market, I had popped some tracks off of Cocteau Twins' Heaven or Las Vegas album into my MP3 player, and it came to me. I'll have to ask her if she has the album already.
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    Cocteau Twins - Cherry-coloured funk