In a few hours, back to the City.
Until then, sitting at the airport, my head still in the clouds. In every way intentional. Every action, deliberate.
p.83 When you’re young you prefer the vulgar months, the fullness of the seasons. As you grow older you learn to like the in-between times, the months that can’t make up their minds. Perhaps it’s a way of admitting that things can’t ever bear the same certainty again.
(Julian Barnes, Flaubert’s Parrot)- via Traci via Chris.
extra, scribbled on the same page:
“and if you don’t like these ironies, I have others.”
“The sky is a theater of possibilities. I’m not romanticising.”
finally, later, Chris adds:
“nothing exists except upon an assumed foundation of absence.” (Jacques Lacan)