This is a googlism.
Which may give you an idea about how this day went. At least.
There was an auction up the street, next block. The auctioneer had a microphone. No, I wouldn’t, couldn’t shut the windows: I want every moment of this weather, and this light. Had a phone call and thought it necessary to take, since N. knows I’m working and would not call, would she, unless something was up that could not wait. It actually could have waited, and meanwhile she began preparing some dish that required the use of her blender or mixer or such which sounded through the phone as if I were listening to a Brakhage film, except, of course, I was not looking at the film. Not at all. I was looking at, through my window, people trekking up the street towards the auction. I took my laptop out of the office, upstairs to work, and there, to block out the auctioneer, started listening to Morning Becomes Eclectic, but I needed to concentrate. I went to a Yo Yo Ma recording, Bach Cello Suites. Then finally gave it up.
Activities like googlism ensued. Clicked on the What is? button, typed in “Cincinnati” — little thought there. Heavily on my mind. I heard from a former student yesterday; his band is Remote Islands; good stuff. A bit of an exchange about Cincinnati, some of which I’m thinking about. He wrote “You had kindred spirits in Charleston but not there?” — something like that, paraphrasing — to my, obviously, lament that I’m finding that aspect of things difficult (yeah, sure, among many, many others, but remember, I am trying not to have this a big gripefest. Trying to be the light where I shine, but man, is it necessary to prove to myself that I can burrow under any amount of darkness and still spark, I wonder). So, I don’t know, I’m thinking about this, about my connections in Charleston, and Charlottesville, and well before that in Columbia and Jacksonville… and an interesting common denominator, turns out, is that my friends, those I felt most connected to, were also transplants. I didn’t say anything about kindred spirit Aaron who is moving away from here, much lamentable.
The discouragement I feel here is weighing pretty heavy right now. Last Sunday, I finally made it to the Second Sunday on Main, a street festival in Over the Rhine, which takes place through the summer months, and which I’d missed each previous month for one reason or another, and which added to my anticipation. Perhaps it was just that particular festival. Maybe there was some fantastic competing event that I knew nothing about. But 50 people? For a city festival? I have never been to a city street festival that made me feel sad before.
Baoku Moses & the Image Afro-Beat Band was excellent. Baoku Moses, in purple, in the street — hot that day — doing his thing. All energy. But up and the down the sidewalks, tables with a white cloth thrown over them, little more, perhaps a few brochures scattered across the top: the YP organization, for example, and other groups supposedly interested in representing to the community. So we drank a (local brewery) beer. Went into Inktank, and to support them, bought a book from their shelves, John Tallmadge’s The Cincinnati Arch: Learning from Nature in the City. I hope I can learn something from nature in this city. We held out until about 3:30.
I mentioned last time about putting something up here about reading, and reading and writing, but the book I need for that I left elsewhere, so that will have to wait a bit, though I know you have already lost sleep over waiting for that entry to appear.