Long day at last. Lots of compulsory, compulsive reading: Bolano [where does the man keep coming up with names from?], I. Banks [master-blaster of narrative], a bit of Gaddis last book, a chaotic rant but this side of comprehensible though thankfully less comprehensive than his earlier work, Latour to keep my mind on its legs [Reassembling the social, what a reassembly!]. No Gibson today, somehow Zero History, despite its intricate plotting and dense materiality is slowly deteriorating into sterility: one gadget after another, all these fabrics I do not care about.
Then some new bulb for my room, extended box of my thoughts. Groceries at eternal Coop; I’m on a carrot-binge lately: cheap, very snackable and, after a while, even enjoyable. Home. Wasting time on the net, what a blessing&curse, the very essence of it. Whatever happened to interesting, relevant news? I hardly ever get beyond the spurious headlines these days. Assange needs to stop clogging up valuable information real-estate, now.
Around four finally sat the old behind down for serious typing. Later, after sunset, sub-zero running, which I used to never do but turns out to be fabulous, seriously. Constant blast of fresh air plus having to really, really focus on the way ahead of you so as not to bust your ankle or fall-ass-over-kettle to the hard, cold concrete. The snow felt more like oily sand mixed with saw dust, so freezing it doesn’t even turn to slush, which is bad news anyway. Route: Spreuerbridge, Noelliturm, microscopic stretch of total black ice, St. Karli, Kantonsspital, Maihof, Oberlöchli, St.Anna&beyond, the lakeside, through that lovely tunnel of light from Schwanen to the HB. It’s stimulating how the texture of the city keeps re-arranging and surprising one with every new route, how the experience keeps changing. Only thing missing: new kicks that can be humane to my geriatric knees. Also, Ms. Paula [Inaudible] please stop already congratulating me on another 500 miles after each run.
Home, warm home. Dozens of jets of cool water, down from Pilatus I like to imagine but probably just sucker-pumped from Vierwaldstaettersee. Le petit Marseillais white peach lather, hair made nappy by extra-cold water. Out. Melanzane, Mushrooms and Rice. Bits of a german movie about Stasi DDR, which had the audacity of calling itself socialist.
Then back to tipedityping. Which, allegedly, given enough exercise and persistence, one is supposed to suck less at. Or in less obvious ways. A hope I enjoy clinging onto in the foggy Atlantic of my days.
Take care & thanks for stopping by,