By Julian Stannard
I’m being carried down
the Burlington Arcade
by Beadles in top hats,
jewelers on both sides
holding out their hands
and wrapped in cashmere.
When people speak of
near-death experiences
they’re always going through
tunnels, they’re happy,
they’re never going through
the Burlington Arcade.
Eric says, It’s good
to see you wearing clothes
and I have to admit he’s
wearing the most beautiful
trousers and I say, Eric
you’re not supposed to be
in this poem. Get back
into your shop! I can see
a light at the end of the tunnel.
The Head Beadle’s saying
“Burlington Gardens!”
Should I tip him?
Am I dead?
What happens next?
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Happy 5786! I got defriended yesterday by a friend since 2001, apparently for saying I support studios that aren't boycotting Israeli singers and filmmakers, so happy new year to me. I ran late doing chores Monday so I will keep this short. We ran out in the late morning to Blazing Bagels and to Whole Foods to get food for Rosh Hashanah, I did laundry and some computer-related chores, I'm nearing the end of The Paris Bookseller and am amused that James Joyce is the villain of the story. We walked to the beach in lovely first-day-of-autumn weather.
Paul made us noodle kugel and jackfruit brisket for dinner, plus we had apples and honey (and chocolate ice cream). We saw the horrible end of the Ravens-Lions game, but our main entertainment late evening was Swiped, the Lily James movie about the Tinder co-founder who created Bumble after the tech bros at the former treated her like shit, which was infuriating in all the ways I expected and had a pretty good ending. From Alki Beach yesterday, sea stars and cucumbers, anemones, crabs, and chitons in the tidepools and hiding in the rocks:
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