In tennis championships, my favorite part is the runner-up’s speech.
And I love looking at the face of the loser right after the game. Or moments before it ends and yet the player already knows his fate. That blank, faraway gaze. There’s no hope there in the eyes, only acceptance of defeat. And holding his composure, there’s courage in there too.
Top Shelf
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The Vocalist The rest could only imitate what he alone and all alone could do: sustain, vibrate, reach unnamed colors of the soundscape. ...
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Pulse (A love poem) In the beginning was a pulse that came right before any breath to birth a song or a word. It throbs even as the music...
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Pictures to Show The article calls for being present. That instead of taking photos of the bee Sucking on sunflower, Lock your eyes ... -
So I have gotten into the habit of recording my piano practices because reasons (that have got to do with skills development and, admittedl...
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Everyday view from the kitchen window You read your horoscope and think it can apply to literally anyone in the world. Then you go deeper ... -
Prelude Let's make work of beginnings. Think prelude, how the masters leave little worlds on their own till one is found by acc...
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None of the Lights I answered with reluctance when you invited me to a bonfire by the beach with young girls and a local who, despite her ...
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Superboy! You have a liking for high places Dissecting plain skies Looking down on people Dissolving into borders Because you wish to fly...
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Appropriate, to the level of cliché, that the first blog of the year features a prelude. In TV-series tradition, a brief recap of 202...
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Modiano, Patrick. The Black Notebook. Mariner, 2016. My favorite bookstagrammer (is that how you call them?) told me that "[Patrick...
