Tere liye, life goes on…

Present moments: listening to this still — it came in via Outlandish‘s Facebook feed. I’m still a little open-mouthed at how ebrahim / @eebsofresh wraps his voice in, out and around the lyrics to make something totally new of the song — a cover of Frank Ocean‘s Swim Good.

I do wonder about ebrahim’s pronunciation of Swayze, though.

And I’m still loving Sam Sifton‘s food review writing for the NYTimes. His passion, his practicality, his understanding of audience, and of food, and the pure skill of his writing, are what get to me. In his 14th September, 2011, review of Hospoda, he achieves both connection and authority with his seemingly antithetical use of formal and vernacular voices in a single paragraph:

“Servers at the restaurant need to be schooled either in menu specifics or in the charm of copping to ignorance. Because: fluke is not a freshwater fish, people!”

As I’ve strayed across boundaries, the Visual Thesaurus has helped, bridging the quiet place where art lives, with the place of desiring to write again.

Last night NYC went from 84F/29C to 54F/12C. A faint sweet fragrance, from dry warmth contracting the wooden floors, squeezing out some of their natural resins, woke me — the first centrally-heated morning of this half of the year.

Mid-September is almost a time of straight up-and-down sun-shadows on the Earth. It’s late-tomato and early-apple time. Cheeks tingle at 5 am, if you’re out then, and hearts warm up as the season of fire and festivals approaches. That’s life, right now. Wish you were here.

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