Saturday, July 30, 2011

Saturday commute xxxiv: Thomas Isermann in the dunes

Have we given any thought, to what they'll think of us, at White's, as we raise the inherent question? (Raw envy, will do as a start). And there we are, on a Saturday, exploring some bluffs with a friend from out of town: Yes, you can see Cypress Point from here; Yes, that is the Peninsula down there; Yes, the whales really seem disportive this afternoon.

In the brain death, to which we have all contributed in our adaptations of an image to some nobler purpose, Isermann intervenes as something of an inconvenience, cloaked in a suspension almost colloidal in its instability. He has inflicted that effect here, frequently, and with the gods' consent, probably will ultimately wreck the place.

Tell you what, Tom. It's going to get pretty windy up here; best to move along.

And thank heavens, we do. But we were there, in the dunes, with Thomas Isermann. As we have said, we forget nothing. And this doesn't even come close. 

So, chin up. You might write a blog someday, on scarcity, and how much more it teaches you than luxury. To which, of course, no ob-jection need prevail ..

With this entry, we open yet another oblique research tab for our "Matter" listing, provoked by a page which heaps one test upon another of our endurance of California. Not that there are not other things to read about, there; but everywhere, its ambient menace sets a fragrant context you can sense without a word. We've declared, it's safe to touch our page. I wouldn't go that far with this one.


  1. There is a little Mozart on my page (the player) in your honor. Have a good weekend.

  2. How very sweet! I do very much love this concerto - ever since I was a boy - and have enjoyed it in many performances but have never heard hers. Thank you very fondly. I hadn't heard it in a long time, and it is so happy.