09/20/2009
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06/05/2009
savings time
noticed this basquiat on the portsmouth le havre ferry as i was returning from jmo's degree show. to make a long story. i feel as if some traveller. now here. joke explainer. husband's occupation.
from the deck of the ferry: 3 tiny french coast guard guys in a small black boat followed in the wake.
on the highway there was a gas station restaurant called le jardin du boeuf. bacon.
In the last week of August 1939, as the talk of war invaded Paris, a young literature teacher, Vincent Degraël, was invited to spend a few days at the place outside Le Havre belonging to the parents of one of his colleagues, Denis Borrade. The day before his departure, while exploring his hosts' shelves in search of one of those books one has always promised oneself one will read, but that one will generally only have time to leaf inattentively through beside the fire before going to make up a fourth at bridge, Degraël lit upon a slim volume entitled The Winter Journey, whose author, Hugo Vernier, was quite unknown to him but whose opening pages made so strong an impression on him that he barely found time to make his excuses to his friend and his parents before going up to his room to read it.
