tuckova

Why these mountains. Why this sky.

Whoa I'm sorry, boy I stepped into some kind of alternate dimension where time wasn't moving and when I stepped back out again time had moved. Here we are.

Working so much. I have cried from the sheer weight of it but on the plus side I'll have money for the hot sandy beach calling my personal name this winter.

Doing stuff with other people. Sometimes with other people's children, but then aren't we all other people's children? We are, we are.

Tomorrow I'm going to Prague to a garden party at the embassy. As one does.

A weekend in London. This time I think I'm going to touch the art.

Next week I'm going to see Laurie Anderson in Budapest. I almost can't articulate my love for her except I totally can because somebody asked me yesterday and it poured out.

The next week my sister's coming. I just can't even do my anticipation justice here. It's been five years.

After that, it's hermit time. I'm... I don't know. Dancing as fast as I can. No drugs and no dramatically bad hair, just trying to make my body outspin the dervish of my heart.

inlaid

In 1994 we went to Telc for the first time; there's a beautiful castle there. This was before Western tourism had really hit the country and we pretty much had the run of the place (now it has the red ropes that all castles buy in bulk). We posed in embroidered chairs at the dining hall table, slid around on the ballroom's parquet floor in the ubiquitous Czech slippers, took flash photos of the sgraffito which was not a misspelling. There was, in one room, a puzzle box. According to the guide, the box had 20 hidden compartments, of which they had only found fifteen. We fiddled with it for a while before zooming off, high on kofola and drunk on antiquity.

In this room now you arrive. With your wide eyes you open one drawer, with your careful mouth you speak and open two more. Clever fingers open the velvet drawer where a woman could store her jewelry, find the hidden latch and the lid flies open, and music pours out of the puzzle box, all the secrets but one revealed now. It is part of your genius that in this moment you pass your hand gently across the lid and stand and walk away, leaving that one last mystery for later, or for someone else, and go on to join the others while the music plays on behind you.

on the way

A beauty in white, heels clicking on the sidewalk, matching white bag slung over forearm, ducks around the corner and pulls down at the sides of her very short, very tight dress. At the edge of the parking lot, a tall police officer is on his walkie talkie while the middle-aged seller packs up the cheap pajamas and underwear and two people lean over the railings at the tram stop to watch in what can only be described as extremely passive fascination. A tie and shirtsleeves absentmindedly rubs at his generous belly, waiting for the light to change. A woman leans down and whispers in a baby's ear, and the baby's face lights up in joy at the warmth and tickle, the flow of words. Two bent elderly women get on the tram and the rush to give up seats is like a sudden wave of kindness, and one of the people who sits back down starts talking with the too-loud voice of the mildly retarded, asking the ladies how old they are, and it's lovely, flirtatious and the ladies, both ninety, are coy and visibly pleased. A green shirt and shorts pacing on the sidewalk, muttering angrily, though whether to himself or his demons or his phone is hard to tell at this distance.  In another parking lot, a police officer in mirrored sunglasses is talking to a driver, also in mirrored sunglasses, their faces versailles as  they talk, endlessly reflecting.

losing the plot

I've always been good at seeing below the surface, the shadows in the water, the fingers of seaweed pulled and pushed by the tide. Human behavior, too, has generally been a matter of standing very still and just watching until the sparkles stop dazzling you and you see the fish that disperse and then swim back with cautious curiosity or the perfect curve of shell at your feet. Even when the person doing something doesn't know why, if you are quiet and watchful it generally becomes clear. We are animals, after all, and a little study is all that's required. I think sometimes one reason I like television is that the actors are told what their motivation is, and when you watch a good actor they telegraph their intent even when the words contradict that. He tells her he loves her but we know he's lying because of the way his eyes flicker away from her. For example. And now when I see your eyes flicker away even as your lower lip kisses your top teeth, the V of love, I know it's a lie. The thing I don't know is the motivation for it; that's hidden from me still. Lately I find myself increasingly lost, and I'm confused because this used to be my strong point. Why because money. Why because death. Why because shame. Those were the most because causes, so obvious, but I used to be able to see the subtle ones, too, as clear as water. But suddenly the water is always murky, clouded with garbage, my feet cut into ribbons with sea glass and I can't hear anything but the roar of the waves.