May 31, 2014

What an odd journey will begin on Monday! Except for the barest housing and transportation essentials, I have made no preparations. I have not studied the German I meant to study. I have not researched points of interest in Vienna or Budapest. I always thought it would be better for me to travel like it was just the continuation of an ordinary week, and maybe I’ve achieved that. I’ll work out a fiction wherein I am an alien set down in a strange city, ignorant of the languages and customs of the people, and see if can make my way.  I’m picturing Vienna in misty blue day and Budapest under moonlight.

Vomited out the first Yeats play in four days. Maybe that went so well because I was meant to be doing something else.

Odd days. If I picture them, they are like a great disc, as the books picture the discs the planets ride around the sun. The center is peopled with matter and souls, and matter and souls are spread through the outer reaches, but here, where I am, there is only me, a rock floating where a planet failed to form. It is not unlovely, but it is curious and solitary. One can’t figure out exactly how one arrived.