Saturday 27 June 2009


I kept the figurine that the stranger in the cemetery had given me and studied it with enormous interest for as I have said it was an exquisitely carved and detailed model of a male figure as bare of clothing as any greek sculpture in a prince's antiquities collec- tion, and there were parts on that tiny body that I had never yet seen except on a child. When I first looked at it, it was reclining in a pose like that of the dying Gaul, head bowed and sub- missive, but later I found that I must have been mistaken and discovered the figure was in fact standing in a proud attitude. I placed it on the sill of my bedroom window that first night and fell asleep watching his silhouette, a seven inch shadow against the dull glimmer of the street lamps. But the following morning, to my utter astonishment, it had taken a seated aspect, and indeed every time I looked at it after the passage of a period of time, the figure was differently posed, now marching, now prone, now seated, now bending over and plucking an invisible harvest, now reaching for the sky. Never once did it repeat a pose and I kept it for more than a decade. I never once saw it move, and I tried to twist and bend its brazen limbs in my childish fingers without any effect. It was a solid compact of metal, immoveable and lifeless, but I came to think of it as alive, with a soul or a spirit imprisoned in metal as long as I beheld him, but free to clamber and run and dance in his immodest fashion whenever my eyes were turned or my attention elsewhere. I dared not show this miracle to my uncle or Madame Boucher, or even to Marie-Thérèse or any other soul, convinced they would take it from me because of his nakedness, and the lustful leer that looked out of his miniature visage. He was a disturbing guest, but my guest nonetheless, and I wondered about the strange man who had given him to me, and the meaning of it.

It occured to me then that the world is a changeable and variable place, its houses and roads and churches and bridges are in constant, fluid motion, but that we are deceived by their form and fail to see they are different each moment, like the waters of the Seine flowing endlessly within its banks beneath the Pont Neuf. So I began to observe the people around me, and paid regard to their variable humours and mercurial dispositions, of Marie-Thérèse particularly, as I came to know her so well, who seemed a different person from month to month, with new interests and passions each season. And with the help of that mute, metallic and miniature teacher, I began to notice the changes to my own person and body, and fancied that the Yolande of yesterday was not the Yolande of today, and these transformations, profound as they were becoming, were nonetheless unnoticeable from day to day as long as my attention slept.

If this creature of metal were alive, it never gave any indication that he could see or hear me, though I often addressed him in private and confessed to him my most secret thoughts and reflections upon the day's events. He lived in my pocket, or at my windowsill, or upon a shelf behind a book when, as I attained maturity, he grew increasingly lewd and priapic, and I could not bear to look at him. He seemed less a guest and more an emblem of my own sinful desire and guilty soul or partner to wicked thoughts that sometimes found their way into my foolish head. Much later I learned what he was and the evil he did me, but that tale must wait until I have recounted more of the man from whom I had him.

Friday 26 June 2009


Enjah and Osprey have already blogged about our visit today to Drowsy, which was on Koinup's most popular spots this week. It is a beautiful, carefully made island full of dark storybook mystery, bears and wolves and dwellings slowly reverting back to forest, carpeted in moss. Look for the giant stuffed animals and the crocodile beneath the bridge, Mai Runo's maison engloutie par la mer with a collection of art about boots, the ruined gypsy caravans, the Fish King and the lonely coast. The work of several talented illustrators and designers from Japan have gone into this highly integrated work of art that opened after two months of hard work in June: skin and fashion designer BettiePage Voyager; graphic designer sato Yifu (whom I had the pleasure of meeting) and Nico Rotaru, owners of Kurotsubaki Store; Mai Runo, shoe designer and boot collector. These photographs hardly do it justice, so I urge you to pay a visit and spend some time there.

Friday 12 June 2009


In the week after M. Panard and M. Fagan opened La Sylphide Supposee at the Théâtre de la Foire, my uncle Adraste took me back to the Théâtre Italien to begin my apprenticeship as an actress. M. Biancoleli's gamble with the farce at the Saint Laurent Fair paid back its principal with interest, for La Sylphide played thirty-four performances in the hôtel Bourgogne and became a staple in the repertoire of la Comedie Italienne. The old theatre was by now a familiar place to me, for Marie-Thérèse and I had become fast friends over the summer and together we explored its many mysterious corners and abandoned rooms, used to store the properties of productions long forgotten, though I never persuaded her ever to return to the stairway that led up to its terrifying tower.

We spent our days learning the four types of battemens, nine types of pas de bourrée, balloté, fouetté, caprioles and entrechats and the lazzi or comic routines of the repertoire. It was exhausting work but we were well fed and grew strong and supple. Our fair instructrice was the long-limbed and beautiful Mademoiselle Belmont who wafted over the stage floor in a cloud of lace and ribbon but could not sing in tune to save her life. She was tormented by jealous lovers and could never pick between them. She cried often. We were taught pantomime by our old Arlequin, M. Vicentini, who went by his stage name of Thomassin. His daughter Sidonie and son Joachim were about my age and studied at my side. Sidonie had an older sister Catine who had debuted earlier in the year. I learned to sing and declaim, and learned to speak Italian passably well, though all the players spoke French well. Our days were long and so I returned at night to my uncle's bookstore too tired to read, except on Sundays when I would take a little volume of poetry with me to browse in the cemetery after mass. Madame Riccoboni and her son returned from Italy the next year and returned to the stage with much celebration. I grew up among those happy, mad, passionate men and women, who wore down my reclusive and morbid solitary nature with their brilliant and implacable friendliness.

As I grew more graceful in movement and confident in conversation, I left my old hiding holes behind the bookshelves and under the tables of my uncle's shop for more companionable pleasures, walking with friends in the parks and joining my uncle in his coffeehouse meetings with other artists and performers. Before long I had a small circle of admirers of my own, solicitous young men whose names I no longer remember, whom I would meet secretly to exchange notes. They were every one a poet, dedicating their souls to Amor and their pens to Aphrodite and Isis in hope of inducting me into eleusinian mysteries. I would have been conquered if I were not already familiar with the sources of those 'original' lyrics, for they plagiarized the English mercilessly and I felt more pity than love for their small talents. But I could smile prettily and dance around them and confound them by replying in Tuscan. I don't believe I broke anyone's heart, because we were only actresses and they were knaves apprenticed to rakes and scoundrels. But we enjoyed our games of glances and chaste caresses and doubtful promises of fidelity, of being rêves poursuivis, pursued dreams, flowers of youth and beauty, the image of every brilliant quality and grace. We sublimated into sylphides ourselves, volatile spirits without substance or gravity, reflecting into the arms and vanities of the youths who loved us. We stole their affections and collected their laughter. We pirouetted mercilessly at the centres of their revolving loyalty, radiant suns that warmed their smiling lips across an abyss of nonchalance and the unapproachable stage. We banished tears and misery to the utter depths of the outside world, that place of streets and markets and flesh and grime, to inhabit the enchanted world beneath the chandeliers, its palaces and breathing gods, its banquets and musicians and everlasting applause. We were actresses of the Italian Comedy and for a magical age we ruled the world.


While minding my own business this morning, I was commanded to entertain a certain Monsieur Anchor Gascoigne, an acquaintance of Enjah's who wanted a story. Being prolix by nature (though some have described it as upwardly flatulent) I agreed. I think Enjah and Anchor contributed much to the tale with their interjections so though I may be breaking the terms of use, here is my story in its windy fullness.

[11:01] Young Geoffrion: Well, Anchor, how do you wish to be entertained?
[11:01] Enjah Mysterio: I have returned
[11:01] Young Geoffrion: Shall I tell a story?
[11:01] Young Geoffrion: sing a song?

[11:01] Anchor Gascoigne: witticisms will do it
[11:01] Enjah Mysterio: YES!
[11:01] Enjah Mysterio: tell a story!
[11:01] Young Geoffrion: Witticisms
[11:01] Young Geoffrion: A witty story?
[11:01] Enjah Mysterio: ODW
[11:01] Anchor Gascoigne: songs are aok too
[11:01] Enjah Mysterio: On Demand Wit
[11:02] Enjah Mysterio hums
[11:02] Young Geoffrion: Well,
[11:02] Young Geoffrion: Give me a moment to think

[11:02] Anchor Gascoigne: Tell us about your cousins.
[11:02] Young Geoffrion: My cousins? The ones we lost to the woods?
[11:02] Young Geoffrion: They went playing where they should not have gone

[11:03] Enjah Mysterio: what, no breadcrumbs?
[11:03] Young Geoffrion: Mira and Estrella
[11:03] Young Geoffrion: Breadcrumbless

[11:03] Enjah Mysterio listens, shuddering
[11:03] Anchor Gascoigne: let then crumble cake
[11:03] Young Geoffrion: It was a long time ago, when the woods were closer than they are today
[11:04] Young Geoffrion: every city worthy of its name had a wood nearby

[11:04] Young Geoffrion: and a road running through it.

[11:09] Young Geoffrion: Ah, well along the road, there are always travellers
[11:09] Young Geoffrion: and Mira and Estrella both fell in love with a courier
[11:09] Young Geoffrion: the same youth

[11:10] Anchor Gascoigne: How old were they?
[11:10] Young Geoffrion: who appeared one day at the edge of the wood with a message
[11:10] Young Geoffrion: but had forgotten to whom it was addressed.

[11:10] Anchor Gascoigne: I had imagined small but not so small it seems
[11:10] Young Geoffrion: No, they were fifteen and seventeen at the time
[11:10] Anchor Gascoigne: What a strange courier
[11:10] Enjah Mysterio: tender age
[11:10] Young Geoffrion: They got lost in the woods when they were very small,
[11:11] Young Geoffrion: and I had to find them,
[11:11] Young Geoffrion: but at the time of this story
[11:11] Young Geoffrion: they lost their hearts
[11:11] Young Geoffrion: to the same young man.

[11:11] Anchor Gascoigne: I bet he was in disguise
[11:11] Young Geoffrion: Perhaps he was,
[11:11] Young Geoffrion: he was dressed as a messenger,
[11:12] Young Geoffrion: with a green tunic and deerskin boots

[11:12] Enjah Mysterio: mmmmmmmmm deerskin
[11:12] Young Geoffrion: a slight blonde with long limbs
[11:12] Anchor Gascoigne: deerskin doesn't make very good boots, though - too soft
[11:12] Young Geoffrion: a swift walker and sweet talker
[11:12] Young Geoffrion: the uppers were deerskin,
[11:13] Young Geoffrion: the soles had been reshod.

[11:13] Enjah Mysterio: buttery uppers
[11:13] Young Geoffrion: well not as buttery as his words
[11:13] Enjah Mysterio: lol!
[11:13] Young Geoffrion: and he fairly melted the hearts of the two cousins
[11:13] Anchor Gascoigne: :-D
[11:14] Young Geoffrion: He claimed to have lost the address of the recipient of his message
[11:14] Young Geoffrion: It is hardly credible,
[11:14] Young Geoffrion: but the packet was worn and water stained

[11:14] Anchor Gascoigne: And their hearts were like tasy lobster, all buttered up.
[11:14] Anchor Gascoigne: *tasty
[11:14] Young Geoffrion: and I saw it myself.
[11:14] Enjah Mysterio chuckles softly
[11:14] Young Geoffrion: A blur of an address
[11:15] Young Geoffrion: but clearly two names were written there
[11:15] Young Geoffrion: that might have been Mira and Estrella

[11:15] Anchor Gascoigne: Yet he must've seen it before it blurred or spoken with the sender...
[11:15] Anchor Gascoigne: Ah
[11:15] Young Geoffrion: though it might have been Mona Destaigne
[11:15] Anchor Gascoigne: a magician
[11:15] Anchor Gascoigne: I trust him not
[11:15] Young Geoffrion: Or Manuel Estrangelo
[11:15] Young Geoffrion: We tried to think who it might be.
[11:16] Young Geoffrion: In the end we decided to open the packet
[11:16] Young Geoffrion: and read the content for clues.

[11:16] Anchor Gascoigne: Indeed the wisest course ;-D
[11:16] Young Geoffrion: Mira grabbed the packet from his hands
[11:16] Enjah Mysterio longs to hear the content
[11:16] Young Geoffrion: and laid it on the grass
[11:16] Anchor Gascoigne: precipitate girl
[11:17] Young Geoffrion: We four sat down together
[11:17] Young Geoffrion: not minding the dew that precipitated on the lawn

[11:17] Anchor Gascoigne: raining girls
[11:17] Enjah Mysterio: or fawns
[11:17] Anchor Gascoigne: and they reign as queens unless one reins them in
[11:18] Young Geoffrion: I was younger than my cousins
[11:18] Young Geoffrion: they ruled my affections
[11:18] Young Geoffrion: they opened the packet

[11:19] Anchor Gascoigne: what did the sealing wax look like?
[11:19] Young Geoffrion: breaking the seal
[11:19] Anchor Gascoigne wants foreplay.
[11:19] Young Geoffrion: that was a portculliis stamped in brown wax
[11:19] Anchor Gascoigne: ah
[11:19] Young Geoffrion: with the words,
[11:19] Young Geoffrion: tout-seul

[11:20] Anchor Gascoigne: ooh
[11:20] Enjah Mysterio: all alone?
[11:20] Young Geoffrion: stamped beneath
[11:20] Young Geoffrion: All alone
[11:20] Enjah Mysterio: wow
[11:20] Enjah Mysterio is fascinated now
[11:20] Anchor Gascoigne: sounds like it could be my seal
[11:20] Young Geoffrion: There were only three pages inside
[11:20] Young Geoffrion: and it was signed by someone named Gascoine

[11:20] Anchor Gascoigne: never!
[11:21] Young Geoffrion: we looked at the signature first.
[11:21] Enjah Mysterio: Gadzooks!
[11:21] Anchor Gascoigne: was it legible?
[11:21] Young Geoffrion: It was.
[11:22] Young Geoffrion: clearly Gascoine was a scribe or a scrivener

[11:22] Anchor Gascoigne: The courier seemed as though he'd carried it for a hundred years.
[11:22] Young Geoffrion: he wrote in a beautiful hand
[11:22] Young Geoffrion: long, loppy letters
[11:22] Young Geoffrion: loopy letter I mean
[11:23] Young Geoffrion: let me try that again:
[11:23] Young Geoffrion: long, loopy letters
[11:23] Young Geoffrion: a relaxed pen,
[11:23] Young Geoffrion: broadly spaced words
[11:23] Young Geoffrion: that began,

[11:23] Anchor Gascoigne: sad people now use ballpoints
[11:23] Enjah Mysterio: not all
[11:23] Anchor Gascoigne: ink is so much nicer
[11:23] Young Geoffrion: Ma plus chere...
[11:23] Anchor Gascoigne: generally
[11:24] Young Geoffrion: and no name
[11:24] Anchor Gascoigne: I wrote all my university notes in fountain pen
[11:24] Young Geoffrion: It was a love letter.
[11:24] Anchor Gascoigne: ah!
[11:24] Anchor Gascoigne: But to whom?
[11:24] Young Geoffrion: That much was obvious,
[11:24] Anchor Gascoigne: How could you find out?
[11:24] Young Geoffrion: it could only be written to Mira,
[11:25] Young Geoffrion: my cousin Mira exclaimed.
[11:25] Young Geoffrion: But my cousin Estrella differed

[11:25] Anchor Gascoigne: Oh she is too much
[11:25] Young Geoffrion: and was convinced that the description referred to her own features:
[11:25] Young Geoffrion: a round, pale face like the moon
[11:26] Young Geoffrion: skin as soft as a petal

[11:26] Enjah Mysterio: eyes?
[11:26] Young Geoffrion: a mouth as ripe as a berry
[11:26] Anchor Gascoigne: two
[11:26] Enjah Mysterio: lol
[11:26] Young Geoffrion: the eyes were not mentioned.
[11:26] Enjah Mysterio: the best number!
[11:26] Young Geoffrion: how strange!
[11:26] Anchor Gascoigne: three is better
[11:26] Anchor Gascoigne: hmmm
[11:27] Young Geoffrion: If the eyes had been mentioned, my cousins might never have lost their hearts
[11:27] Anchor Gascoigne: eyes are always mentioned
[11:27] Young Geoffrion: at the same time
[11:27] Young Geoffrion: for in all things they were identical,
[11:27] Anchor Gascoigne: in a love letter
[11:27] Young Geoffrion: except their eyes.

[11:27] Anchor Gascoigne: I fear the courier has a plot
[11:27] Young Geoffrion: Mira had dark eyes like pools of still water
[11:28] Young Geoffrion: while Estrella's eyes sparkled blue like a lake in a storm

[11:28] Enjah Mysterio waits to hear what the courier was up to
[11:28] Young Geoffrion: Mira gazed at the world modestly,
[11:28] Anchor Gascoigne: My own are blue-grey like a puddle reflecting the sky
[11:28] Auron Warrhol is Online
[11:29] Young Geoffrion: Estrella challenged the world with her gaze
[11:29] Auron Warrhol is Offline
[11:29] Anchor Gascoigne: Estrella is the younger?
[11:29] Young Geoffrion: But as they both had round faces, and lips like berries,
[11:29] Enjah Mysterio bites her lips to make them like berries
[11:29] Young Geoffrion: they were convinced the writer
[11:29] Young Geoffrion: had addressed both of them

[11:29] Enjah Mysterio: hmmmm!
[11:29] Anchor Gascoigne: It was obviously Mira, though.
[11:30] Anchor Gascoigne: If indeed it was either.
[11:30] Young Geoffrion: that mis, each claimed to be the rightful recipient of the letter from across the wood
[11:30] Young Geoffrion: *this tis
[11:30] Young Geoffrion: *that is
[11:30] Young Geoffrion: Mira offered additional evidence

[11:30] Enjah Mysterio: but perhaps it was Mona Destaigne after all!
[11:31] Young Geoffrion: she had explored deeper in the forest than Estrella
[11:31] Enjah Mysterio: who may have had eyes red like Mars!
[11:31] Anchor Gascoigne lays 5 guineas on Mira
[11:31] Young Geoffrion: and it was clear she had been seen by someone who lived on the other side
[11:31] Young Geoffrion: But Estrella said no,

[11:32] Enjah Mysterio wonders where their parents are
[11:32] Young Geoffrion: she sang so much more prettily than Mira
[11:32] Young Geoffrion: and her voice carried further
[11:32] Young Geoffrion: The two young ladies could not agree,
[11:33] Young Geoffrion: and turned to the messenger to decide for them.

[11:33] Anchor Gascoigne: Sisters will argue, tis said.
[11:33] Enjah Mysterio: and cousins will kiss
[11:34] Young Geoffrion: The young man in the deerskin boots stood up
[11:34] Young Geoffrion: Yes, just like those boots
[11:35] Young Geoffrion: Though not as marbled

[11:35] Enjah Mysterio: these are fawn
[11:35] Young Geoffrion: Kobe beef boots?
[11:35] Enjah Mysterio: lol
[11:35] Anchor Gascoigne: :-D
[11:35] Young Geoffrion: or fatty tuna?
[11:35] Enjah Mysterio blushes
[11:36] Young Geoffrion: The young man blushed too.
[11:36] Anchor Gascoigne: And did he solve the problem?
[11:36] Young Geoffrion: In a manner of speaking.
[11:37] Young Geoffrion: I think you may agree this was a problem without a ready solution

[11:37] Enjah Mysterio: only if he is unsure
[11:37] Young Geoffrion: The young man suggested that as the intended recipient was a mystery
[11:37] Anchor Gascoigne: Well he seems unsure but I don't trust him.
[11:38] Young Geoffrion: the only solution was for both young ladies to accompany him back through the

[11:38] Enjah Mysterio: uhoh
[11:38] Anchor Gascoigne: oooh nooo
[11:38] Young Geoffrion: to the other side,
[11:38] Enjah Mysterio: no not a good idea, ladies
[11:38] Young Geoffrion: where he would introduce the underscribed Gascoine
[11:38] Anchor Gascoigne: the "Other Side" or the other side?
[11:38] Young Geoffrion: of the loopy letters,
[11:38] Enjah Mysterio: oooo nooooo
[11:38] Young Geoffrion: and he would tell them
[11:39] Young Geoffrion: to which of them he had addressed his love letter

[11:39] Enjah Mysterio shivers
[11:39] Young Geoffrion: Mira looked at Estrella
[11:39] Young Geoffrion: with the sort of look that says,

[11:40] Enjah Mysterio hopes the look says let's go home sweetie
[11:40] Young Geoffrion: "you think you are more beautiful than I, but I will show you
[11:40] Enjah Mysterio: uhoh
[11:40] Enjah Mysterio: Pride leads the way
[11:40] Young Geoffrion: that I have charmed a young man from a distance"
[11:40] Young Geoffrion: Estrella looked at Mira with a look that said,
[11:41] Young Geoffrion: "You undoubtedly think yourself fairer than me,
[11:42] Young Geoffrion: but when I greet my love with a song, you will realize who is fairer."

[11:42] Enjah Mysterio thinks this cannot end well
[11:42] Young Geoffrion: I looked at them both with a mix of horror and,
[11:42] Young Geoffrion: I must admit it,
[11:42] Young Geoffrion: fascination.
[11:43] Young Geoffrion: They stood up as well,
[11:43] Young Geoffrion: and swept the dew from their skirts
[11:43] Young Geoffrion: and turned to the young man,
[11:43] Young Geoffrion: and invited him to lead the way,
[11:43] Young Geoffrion: I bade them fare well,
[11:44] Young Geoffrion: and without a glance back,

[11:44] Anchor Gascoigne: =========:O
[11:44] Young Geoffrion: they went into the forest
[11:44] Enjah Mysterio dreads the next sentence
[11:44] Anchor Gascoigne: Have they been seen since?
[11:44] Young Geoffrion: There might not have been a next sentence
[11:44] Young Geoffrion: except that many years later,
[11:44] Young Geoffrion: when I was fifteen

[11:45] Enjah Mysterio had imagined "and they were never seen again"
[11:45] Young Geoffrion: and playing on the same lawn, next to the same wood
[11:45] Young Geoffrion: the young courier came down the road

[11:45] Anchor Gascoigne: ooh
[11:45] Young Geoffrion: He greeted me with a laugh and a wave
[11:45] Enjah Mysterio thinks, he never aged?
[11:46] Anchor Gascoigne: botox
[11:46] Enjah Mysterio: lol
[11:46] Young Geoffrion: he had aged, certainly
[11:46] Anchor Gascoigne: he WAS A FRAUD COURIER
[11:46] Anchor Gascoigne: I don't trust those pretty boys.
[11:46] Young Geoffrion: though he was not so old as to have lost his charm
[11:46] Young Geoffrion: I asked him what had become of Mira and Estrella
[11:47] Young Geoffrion: and to which of the two had the letter been addressed?
[11:47] Young Geoffrion: And who was Gascoine? and what had been the fate of my cousins?

[11:48] Enjah Mysterio: yes, we all want to know
[11:48] Enjah Mysterio: Enquiring Minds, you know
[11:48] Young Geoffrion: He smiled and shook his head.
[11:48] Enjah Mysterio: no!
[11:48] Young Geoffrion: "It is a funny thing,
[11:49] Young Geoffrion: that Gascoine was not a name of a person after all

[11:49] Enjah Mysterio: "come with me to the other side of the forest and I will show you your cousins

[11:49] Anchor Gascoigne: They might've been disappointed and run off with a travelling troupe of

[11:49] Young Geoffrion: but the name of a place
[11:49] Anchor Gascoigne: Ah
[11:49] Young Geoffrion: and that Mira and Estrella, having reached that place
[11:49] Enjah Mysterio: never never land
[11:49] Young Geoffrion: on the other side of the wood,
[11:50] Anchor Gascoigne: They might've been turned into trees
[11:50] Young Geoffrion: had been praised by all the young men for their round faces
[11:50] Young Geoffrion: and their berry lips
[11:50] Young Geoffrion: and their skin as soft as petals

[11:50] Enjah Mysterio: and their elfin ears no doubt
[11:50] Enjah Mysterio: so they became prostitutes?
[11:50] Anchor Gascoigne: Shocking what men do.
[11:50] Young Geoffrion: skin of does
[11:51] Enjah Mysterio: fur of fawns
[11:51] Anchor Gascoigne: no never
[11:51] Anchor Gascoigne: They became queens.
[11:51] Young Geoffrion: And they had each taken a young gascon for a husband
[11:51] Anchor Gascoigne: of twin kings
[11:52] Anchor Gascoigne: and they could never return because...
[11:52] Enjah Mysterio: they were nailed to the floor
[11:52] Young Geoffrion: Mira became a mother of twin boys,
[11:52] Anchor Gascoigne: well they just were too busy
[11:52] Young Geoffrion: and wrote down all the tales that were told in that part of the world
[11:53] Young Geoffrion: and her sons grew up to be couriers

[11:53] Enjah Mysterio: lol
[11:53] Young Geoffrion: and tale tellers
[11:53] Anchor Gascoigne has fallen under Mira's spell.
[11:53] Young Geoffrion: and honey-tongued lovers
[11:54] Young Geoffrion: But Estrella married a sailor

[11:54] Anchor Gascoigne: Her face is as radiant as... a radiator... and her eyes come in a pair, like clogs.
[11:54] Young Geoffrion: and disappeared over the horizon
[11:54] Young Geoffrion: and was never seen again

[11:54] Enjah Mysterio: her face peeks over the horizon each night
[11:54] Enjah Mysterio: the courier is CLEARLY LYING
[11:54] Young Geoffrion: except she wrote me a letter from Africa
[11:54] Anchor Gascoigne: I've got a hill in the way.
[11:54] Enjah Mysterio: he killed them both
[11:54] Anchor Gascoigne: nooo
[11:54] Enjah Mysterio: and he faked the letter!
[11:55] Anchor Gascoigne: He didn't, he didn't.
[11:55] Enjah Mysterio: HE ATE THEM
[11:55] Anchor Gascoigne: He was a deer.
[11:55] Enjah Mysterio: they tasted like berry pies
[11:55] Young Geoffrion: where all she wrote was,
[11:55] Young Geoffrion: "tout seul"
[11:55] Anchor Gascoigne: An enchanted deer and the girls became doe queens
[11:55] Enjah Mysterio: in a loopy hand
[11:55] Enjah Mysterio is aware her imagination is dark
[11:55] Anchor Gascoigne: deer write loopy
[11:56] Enjah Mysterio: yes tough with split hooves
[11:56] Anchor Gascoigne: well known
[11:56] Young Geoffrion: It is a true story,
[11:56] Young Geoffrion: except the part about the deerskin boots

[11:56] Enjah Mysterio: ... and if they have not died, they live there still!
[11:56] Anchor Gascoigne: and the raining girls
[11:56] Enjah Mysterio: and the eating
[11:56] Anchor Gascoigne: They are, I know!
[11:56] Anchor Gascoigne: And they are laughing.
[11:56] Young Geoffrion: It turned out the young courier's name was Gascoine
[11:56] Anchor Gascoigne: ah
[11:57] Young Geoffrion: And had been in love with them both
[11:57] Enjah Mysterio: awwww
[11:57] Enjah Mysterio: a young man's first love(s)
[11:57] Anchor Gascoigne: What tricksters love makes of mere mortals.
[11:57] Young Geoffrion: and was the author of that letter,
[11:58] Young Geoffrion: though he was a gentle boy who would never have hurt anyone

[11:58] Enjah Mysterio: he could not choose, and lost both!
[11:58] Anchor Gascoigne: He wasn't a Mormon, I hope.
[11:58] Young Geoffrion: and lost them both to his friends
[11:58] Enjah Mysterio is saddened
[11:58] Enjah Mysterio: a beautiful tale, ms g
[11:58] Anchor Gascoigne: Well, young Yo had better shy away from him.
[11:58] Young Geoffrion: on the other side of the woods.
[11:58] Enjah Mysterio: delights
[11:59] Anchor Gascoigne: She is wiser, anyway.
[11:59] Young Geoffrion: Gascoine used to visit me often
[11:59] Enjah Mysterio: the young have their wisdom
[11:59] Anchor Gascoigne: Some dew.
[12:00] Young Geoffrion: but he was too much in love with Mira and Estrella.
[12:00] Enjah Mysterio: it rains wisdom
[12:00] Anchor Gascoigne: Some are precipitate.
[12:00] Enjah Mysterio: uhoh
[12:00] Anchor Gascoigne: Still!
[12:00] Young Geoffrion: Still.
[12:00] Enjah Mysterio: the poor young man
[12:00] Young Geoffrion: I don't know,
[12:00] Anchor Gascoigne: He will not find happiness clinging to the past.
[12:00] Young Geoffrion: Imagine how it might have turned out if he had married one,
[12:00] Young Geoffrion: and still loved the other?

[12:01] Enjah Mysterio: or the other way round!
[12:01] Enjah Mysterio: lol
[12:01] Anchor Gascoigne: lol
[12:01] Young Geoffrion: Or both ways around and then through the middle?

Thursday 11 June 2009

Home Again

Oh, the perils of travel, the joys of return. The grass is overgrown where the sheep could not graze and dust covers the mantel. I am weary, weary from restless change and disappointments, upsets and too-small triumphs, and thirst for intelligent conversation with sober and modest companions. I shall first take care of the letterbox and unpaid bills, then look for me at home in Bodega, where I will lay down my road-tired frame and wait for you.