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Into my heart an air that kills
lebataleur posts about reading the last Saiyuki manga and just for a moment it's 21 years ago in the full flush of fandom, yahoo mailing lists and fannish natter and long threads every day, and oh but it was fun and oh but it was so long ago. 'Where has it gone to/ Say the bells of Toronto', as someone filked even more ages ago. No, it doesn't rhyme, but did we care?
Some winters carry their own Ghost Tides- snowy winters that we don't get anymore except this winter when we do- and I'm back in the early 70s, that decade that got erased from my memory so I can't even tell you what year I'm flashing back to. '73, '74, dark jewel nights on Brunswick Ave, post-production dinners of the medieval play society at a long-gone restaurant, that somehow get mixed up with the Saiyuki days of early 2001 when I also hung around Brunswick Ave a lot, at By the Way and the candy store next to it.
There's a short story collection that begins "Everyone lives on Brunswick Avenue sooner or later" which isn't true, obviously, but more people I know have lived there than on any other street I can name, all at different times: myself, a coworker, my cousin, my high school best friend, and the Little Girls. It was the place I liked best of the- sheesh, how many?- sixteen places I've lived in. It had everything in a one block radius: one of the first Japanese restaurants, the Middle Eastern By the Way, a French restaurant whose name I forget, Book City, a 24 hour grocery store, a small theatre, and two blocks away a supermarket. All but two of those are gone now, and the now multi-million dollar houses, as the Little Girls' mom mourns, are full of yuppies with no conversation and no intellectual interests either.
We live in a scttering time, as Richard Wilbur said.
Some winters carry their own Ghost Tides- snowy winters that we don't get anymore except this winter when we do- and I'm back in the early 70s, that decade that got erased from my memory so I can't even tell you what year I'm flashing back to. '73, '74, dark jewel nights on Brunswick Ave, post-production dinners of the medieval play society at a long-gone restaurant, that somehow get mixed up with the Saiyuki days of early 2001 when I also hung around Brunswick Ave a lot, at By the Way and the candy store next to it.
There's a short story collection that begins "Everyone lives on Brunswick Avenue sooner or later" which isn't true, obviously, but more people I know have lived there than on any other street I can name, all at different times: myself, a coworker, my cousin, my high school best friend, and the Little Girls. It was the place I liked best of the- sheesh, how many?- sixteen places I've lived in. It had everything in a one block radius: one of the first Japanese restaurants, the Middle Eastern By the Way, a French restaurant whose name I forget, Book City, a 24 hour grocery store, a small theatre, and two blocks away a supermarket. All but two of those are gone now, and the now multi-million dollar houses, as the Little Girls' mom mourns, are full of yuppies with no conversation and no intellectual interests either.
We live in a scttering time, as Richard Wilbur said.