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.
“Through the performance process itself, what is normally sealed up, inaccessible to everyday observation and reasoning, in the depth of sociocultural life, is drawn forth” as Victor Turner writes in From Ritual To Theater. Purchased this particular Laphroaig Càirdeas at the distillery and I’ve been looking forward to opening canister and bottle and exploring its … Continue reading Laphroaig Càirdeas 15 With The Right Amount Of Ritual And Discipline.
It looks at me. I look at it. I tasted it on Islay in a warehouse at the Laphroaig Distillery. I drew this precious water of life out of a ex-Manzanilla cask. I brought it back with me to Nacka. Now it’s time to have a taste once again. Look at it. I do think … Continue reading Laphroaig Aged In Ex-Manzanilla Casks With Some Indiscipline.
As I write this the Stromboli volcano off the coast of Sicily has been spewing smoke, gas, bits of the inner earth, molten material overall into the air and sea. Columns and plumes of smoke, mushrooms and horses’ heads speak primal warnings to us that something from below has risen. Reminders that under the appearances … Continue reading Some Thoughts About Volcanoes, Emily Dickinson, Peat And Burning-Places, Martin Heidegger At Home With Tools, And William Blake’s Marriage While Tool Breathes.
Let’s begin with Andrew Jefford’s words at the opening of his chapter on Laphroaig in his wondrous tome Peat Smoke And Spirit. LAPHROAIG (pronounced ‘La-froig‘) is both savage and pretty. Yes, that’s it. He goes on, of course. Savage, for its malt encapsulates better than any other the aerial boisterousness of this edge of the … Continue reading The Hollow Of Broadbay With Claude Debussy Dreaming About Black Stuff And Marija Gimbutas While Watching Barley Raked Across A Room Dance With Arnold Schoenberg In An Analog World By The Sea. So Let’s Make It Real With A Deep Drink Of Miles Davis’ Sanctuary.
I take the long way to the Cirkus Arena. Walking from Slussen across Slussenområdet with its bridges rising over locks between Lake Mälaren and the Baltic Sea, and further towards the Stockholm Cathedral, Riddarholm Church and Baroque orange and yellow facades greeting me as I descend into Gamla Stan, stepping cobblestone to cobblestone in black patent leather shoes, past ornate … Continue reading Night Of A Red Right Hand / First Postcard.
Always there waiting when I arrive, though not always visited, not always directly acknowledged and approached like an itinerant believer noticing the grail, but in the end deferring. Talked of often, gestured toward, but sometimes the car continues, the night passes. But not tonight. No, as I raise a glass of Michigan whiskey raised with … Continue reading “White Castles” As My Son And I Watch “Rick And Morty,” While Space And Time Bubbles And Wobbles Away
Hours from now I’ll look at my aisle window and believe it’s Venice instead of Stockholm, eighteen-hundred and forty-six instead of two thousand and nineteen, and I’m navigating channels on a gondola in the “City of Water” on my way to a ball in ‘Going to the Ball (San Martino)’. Also, my name is Joseph … Continue reading Traveling Through Winter Dark and Light With Samuel Beckett And Assorted Food Options.
The sunset burns the sky. Such mysteries occur all the time. I might think the world’s on fire, a revealing and ending through flames silhouetting branches, trunks and needles; but no, sadly apocalypse will have to wait for another year. Still, world-altering changes have taken place, at least for the family. I moved with Gabriela … Continue reading Goodbye To Two Thousand And Eighteen With Three Single Malt Scotch Bottles From The Southern Coast Of Islay As The Sky Burns Over Nacka And I Listen To Vic Chesnutt And Elf Power.
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.