Ramblings on snakes and James

It is a gorgeous blue skied,

morning,

been a bit of a shitty week,

I think that now,

that I have decided to move on,

everything about,

my current work situation,

bugs the crap out of me,

but,

soon, soon.

(sigh)

Once all the cobwebs and dust,

have,

been cleared away,

a new day,

and,

era will,

dawn.

I was poking around the net,

this morning,

it is my habit,

used to read,

the newspaper,

sports page mostly,

but,

now,

I read my emails,

check on the blog,

face book etc,

catches me up.

For the past couple of months,

in an effort to distract myself,

by looking at pleasing things,

I have become quite,

enamored,

of,

Tumblr menswear sites.

Looking at badass boots,

tweed jackets,

plaid and oxford shirts,

Irish driving caps,

helps,

go figure!

Some people like to look,

at pretty girls,

or mountain tops,

I like to learn about the origins,

of black watch and herringbone,

different strokes,

I guess.

🙂

All this to say,

this morning,

one of my faourite bloggers,

a thrifty and elegant guy,

fom the bay era,

wished us all,

a happy year of,

the snake.

I am a snake,

born in 1965,

May, to be exact,

thus,

in Chinese horoscope,

I am a snake,

a wood snake,

I know,

weird,

but,

is it any more weird,

than being,

a bull?

It would seem,

that the year of the snake,

brings,

great change to those,

who seek them,

interesting, no?

Especially for someone,

tackling a new path,

yeah, interesting.

My reading has been,

hit and miss,

lately,

still working my way,

through Emma’s memoirs,

good but not a novel,

I mean you don’t escape into it.

I like to read non-fiction,

enlarges my scope,

but,

it doesn’t provide,

the craddling effect,

that good fiction does.

I don’t even know if that makes sense,

but,

it is what I feel,

when I am reading a good novel,

comforted, cared for, stimulated.

I have a beautiful copy,

of,

Djuna Barnes’s Nightwood,

perfect size book and print,

and,

this is one of those,

‘I want to like it’ books,

bookish butch cred and all,

but,

it’s too poetic and unstructured,

for me,

right now,

so I have put it on the shelf,

and will wait,

for the right time,

it will happen,

I’m sure.

Last night,

before turning out the light,

I started reading,

The American,

by Henry James,

it’s a nice old beat up,

hardcover,

a little bigger,

than the modern library format I love,

but,

a nice size,

fits into any bag,

and,

has print that my middle aged eyes,

can handle.

One of my pickers,

gave it to me,

she knows I like that format,

it’s not really in good enough,

condition to sell,

for more than a couple of bucks,

and besides,

it was a gift,

so I brought it home.

I’ve tried Henry James,

several times,

always struck me as,

hard to read,

closed club,

sort of stuff,

a good customer, who I will sorely miss, keeps telling me, I must read James.

I read the first two chapters last night,

and,

I like it.

It is early James,

so,

less wordy.

Might just be the escape and craddling,

I seek.

Well,

I’m gonna read for a bit.

Wishing you all a nice Sunday.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

 

Published by

Bookish Butch

I am a bookish butch in my very early fifties. I live in Montréal and always have. I used to run a small used bookstore. Reading keeps me sane. My latest jiggie is photography, book project in the works, living the dream

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