In Rousseau’s Fifth Walk, he writes about time spent on a small island in the middle of Lake Bienne in Switzerland. On the island there is only a single house, but a large, pleasant and comfortable one which, like the island, belongs to Bern Hospital and in which a tax collector lives with his family … Continue reading An Island In The Middle Of A Lake, And Yes, I’m Thinking About Rousseau And Bachelard And Jung, While Contemplating Roasted Salmon And W.G. Sebald’s “A Place In The Country” As Pan Appears With James Hillman And A Nymph And Everything Stops.
Light is everywhere. Already the sun lights the sky at four in the morning and will not set until well close to ten at night–that is, four and twenty two. Summer in Sweden brightens any sun-worshipper into a cult-member calling for the reigns to be handed to them so they can burn the sky and … Continue reading Days Of Summer 2019. Days Of Sunlight And Pork Belly With Caviar, Laphroaig and the Mahavishnu Orchestra.
Like a golden eye slowly cooking in a sea of red. Yolk and whites slowly beginning to bubble in a paprika-rich goulash. Think Sauron. Think an Eye of Sauron Yule Log. For five hours. Eventually the egg cooks and rests in a bowl of peppery goodness grounded with a chicken stock. Think of the beginning … Continue reading My Life With Eggs Since The Beginning Of The Year. And A Walrus.
Last I left Love, I considered Nick Cave’s dark turnings of the lover’s call, playing off of Dante’s first sonnet of beatific and cannibalistic vision. Yet, Dante a few sonnets on in Vita Nuova, also broods on the havoc Love causes, so one might say with Marc Antony in Shake the Spear’s Julius Caesar, “Cry … Continue reading More Terror and Terroir Of Love As We Still Ascend, As We Must Ascend With Dante Alighieri, PJ Harvey, Diotima And Her Ladder, The Supremes, Jacques Lacan, Edgar Allan Poe, Nick Cave, Jaufre Rudel and R.E.M. With A Pour Of Caol Ila And A Slice Of Smoked Eel.
Outside the winter wetlands of Sweden continue to breakdown animal and vegetal matter into a rich loam feeding tree, deer, duck and wandering humans. Inside, I continue to enhance the decay of the world in a pot. A crucial step in the final bog, that rich gumbo broth, occurs with the making of a roux, … Continue reading Cooking the Bog. Day Two With Rust Cohle And Bosnian Rainbows. Darkness In The Wetlands.
Think of a community of the living and the dead, mingling together in water, jostling back and forth with each other; bones and flesh, blood and fin, and all sorts of vegetal matter bubbling and foaming, slowly turning into a dense red bog. In the beginning however, ah, in the beginning, there’s the fishmonger Melanders … Continue reading Cooking The Bog. Day One.
Out and about on a day of shopping for my first gumbo in Sweden, which affords a moment to celebrate living in such a cosmopolitan, community-friendly city as Stockholm. For instance, I’ve found public transportation in the Greater Stockholm area affordable, clean, efficient, quick and yes, multicultural. I pay two hundred and fifty dollars for … Continue reading An American Cooks Gumbo In Nacka, Reveling In Migration And Public Transportation, While Surrounded By Cuisines And Travelers Of All Kinds And Sorts.