End of Empire

Eric — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 05:46:43 +0000

Some kind of Gene Wolfe parlor of tarnished escutcheons, faceless poise, and rotting velvet, with remnants of ruling families maintaining the procedures of dignity as any trace of distinction and inbred purpose fade. Ancestral identity becomes mere cashflow and costume. Vast, dim, cobwebbed atriums (atria?), occasional letters to sign, from estate lawyers. Biscuits and the sherry bottle. Cuddling with grandfather’s trophies and certificates.

Mini-’Pipney

Eric — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 01:37:21 +0000

I love the feeling that I’m coming to an understanding of something that’s very complex, that’s too intricate and layered to put into words. Like jazz harmony this afternoon, when it began, as it sometimes does, to get out of my brain and into my fingers . Like all the rest of it, too, all of it, on a good day. Rewards of aging, reward for decades of dogged rumination and attentive daily experience. The moment passes, though, and I keep muddling along with really only brief, occasional moments of clarity.

Eric Waldemar? » Aphorism

End of Empire

Mini-’Pipney