(un)questionable

nothing to show for/from these past many and silent days except—incredible hoarseness. while learning how to speak, again, i dwell on what i know. or, rather, what i can hear:

g held a Dylan vigil for me the other night. (you just try not loving someone who'd do that, without a question and as a first recourse.) later, we listened, together, in the middle of each of our nights (have never been ones for the timing—or the spacing, really), huddled over ichat and a single broadcast, to the 1963 Studs Terkel interview Pounding a Nail. further questions related to "how could you not love...?"

somewhat along these lines: two unexpected re-discoveries: Black Diamond Bay and Changing of the Guard.

arrived at NB sometime last week and found Marko sitting on one of our tiny chairs, messing around with Early Morning Rain in front of the wood stove. within a moment we had discovered not only an unabashed having of favourites, and for particular (largely connotative, rather than destinative) reasons—but that the unanimously best bus, undeniably so, in the whole loosely-defined city (because the one under discussion bumps all the way out to Zemun Polje, inaka if ever there was such) is #707, precisely because of the song. the shared rationale is uncanny, but i do not poke at it.

these are the things for which there are words.
that i ought to be on a train, returning from Skopje, right now falls into the category of those for which there are none.