Texas Independence Day. Remember the Alamo! (Libertatis cunabula.)
It’s no stretch to see that I’m, in the words of the great modern American poet, Ginsburg, “I’m not in my right mind,” no, that’s pretty clear.
When I first spotted that sign, it’s just a simple sidewalk building placard, I misread it. I was sure the bottom line read, “Helpful bonking.” Always friendly, them British. Helpful bonking, indeed.
Why does’t he speak Italian?
Sister and I were at the cafeteria in the one of the nationalized art museums. I saw Van Gogh’s “Wheat fields” and “Sunflowers,” and there was another piece of his that I much admired. Done while he was in a nut farm, it was very colorful and powerfully evocative blades of grass. Sister pointed out that it was a crazy house creation, and Van Gogh was busy looking down at his feet while he was “institutionalized.”
In that cafeteria, the little waitress was short, dark, passionate. The big brown eyes, and the heavy eyeliner? I tried to answer in my old, broken Spanish, the lingua franca – restaurant Mexican – of my home. She didn’t understand a word I said.
Sister flirted shamelessly, I nodded, and then we listened as that waitress explained, although from Milan, she wanted to learn English and there were more jobs available in London, a city that never sleeps.
Sister explained I was Texan.
“Why doesn’t he speak Italian? He is from Tuscany?”
how are you? sorry for the noise out here. I am talking.
loevd going to the museum with you.
liebe aka obedient sister.
All my obedient women.