June is an open wound.

The air is rank with the smell of life and the heat is like an anvil. The air is still and semisolid, it smells like rot and feels like aspic. Even the clouds are too heavy to move. It's just an high pressure system, but I feel like a Sea-Monkey. I've got Roncevaux(the workstation) moved out of the usual dank corner into another dank corner with better airflow. You should see it. In the afternoon the light makes the front room look like a cross between a detectives office and a low budget villains lair. It kind of has that mad scientist feel to it, but only in that 80s direct-to-video kind of way. You know the ones, I'm sure: The bad guy has glasses and the blond with the armored hair gets her clothes torn off 45 minutes in. Amusingly cheap and bleak.

Fortunately, yesterday was enough of a pick me up that I'm speaking English again. Or American, at least. It wasn't the deaths, either. (While the idea of using the death energies of the former a-list as a sort of occult NoDoze has a certain appeal, I'm not sure the process could be scaled up to what was needed.) It wasn't even the dress that Shulamith wore, though that shade of cinnamon suited her. Sometimes we see things and feel things and never know why, no matter how many hucksters try and sell us answers.

It was just all so goddamn beautiful.

The light turns the river to quicksilver this time of day, and becomes this glowing band between the brick and limestone of the old shops downtown. As you head down the hill it all hangs in the air before you in a sudden unity, singular and fleeting as a secret joy. There are a lot of hidden things here, as often as not in plain sight. You just need the right eyes, I guess.

The resumes are out, and my time here is perhaps short. I imagine when I go I'll take more with me than I'll leave behind. Then again, maybe more of me will stay than will go.