Missed the 8:36 pm train.
9:06 it is.
Doesn’t matter. Just doesn’t matter.
Lit up with a smooth VO Manhattan.
Misted with a fruity Merlo.
Work and worry numbed. Novocaine.
Feeling Easy Like Sunday Morning. On Tuesday.
Hour 17 and on a Midnight Run.
Darkness? Doubt? Can’t touch me.
Robin Williams stops by for a chat.
Friend there’s time.
Enjoy Happy Land.
Wallow in the feathery bliss.
A mere 6 hours from re-start
So far, so good.
The brilliant days and nights
are breathless in their hurry.
We follow, you and I.
– Lisel Mueller, Curriculum Vitae 1992
- Lisel Mueller: Curriculum Vitae 1992 from Alive Together: New and Selected Poems
- Photograph: My Modern Met – Bleebu Captures Intimate Portraits of Women
- Poem: Risky Wiver
I’ve seen what’s to come—
it is the days,
the steady pounding of days,
like gentle rain,
that will be our undoing.
— John Philip Johnson, from “There Have Come Soft Rains,” Rattle (No. 45)
Silence is now offered as a luxury good. In the business-class lounge at Charles de Gaulle airport, what you hear is the occasional tinkling of a spoon against china. There are no advertisements on the walls, and no TVs. This silence, more than any other feature of the space, is what makes it feel genuinely luxurious. When you step inside and the automatic airtight doors whoosh shut behind you, the difference is nearly tactile, like slipping out of haircloth into satin. Your brow unfurrows itself, your neck muscles relax; after twenty minutes you no longer feel exhausted. The hassle lifts. Outside the lounge is the usual airport cacophony. Because we have allowed our attention to be monetized, if you want yours back you’re going to have to pay for it.
~ Matthew B. Crawford, The World Beyond Your Head: On Becoming an Individual in an Age of Distraction