You are my first, Danial. I’ve not re-blogged before, but this just needs to be shared.
ubi iste post phaselus antea fuit
comata silva nam Cytorio in iugo
loquente saepe sibilum edidit coma
where you later see a boat was once
wood forest tied to Cytorian mountains
speaking often in whistling leaf voices
Gaius Valerius Catullus: 4, x-xii.
It is an ancient tradition.
The artist goes to the capital.
Here, he or she will discover la raison d’etre, and a place in history.
Danial is strange. Shall not go to New York.
He will fly overnight. To Washington, DC.
November 6-7, 1974.
“Welcome to the Nation’s Capital,” Jonas will say, two nights later, talking on the interrupting telephone to someone else, after he invites Dani home for dinner.
They met over peanuts in DuPont Circle.
I was desperately homesick my second afternoon in DC.
I stood on the public roof-deck at the State Department, gazing out over the…
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