What we did the day after
Yesterday, a friend died and I spent the afternoon drinking Turkish coffee in a cafe in Islington where we sometimes met up when he was still walking around. And in the evening I played Civilization and hammered the keys harder than I needed to and was playing for death not construction. I used the Bloodlust setting.
Today, I am working and listening to tangos. The sound of bandoneon - which is a bit like an accordion but mournful - and piano is what I need. And when I stop writing in LJ, I have to go write a report on a new translation of Schnitzler, and reading that fitted my mood.
Schnitzler is the writer whom Freud admired, who wrote the much better short story that got turned into 'Eyes Wide Shut' (Kidman's long speech in that actually gives you some of his flavour because it is a straight lift). He is all silly young officers getting themselves into gambling debts and shooting themselves, and lovers unable to acknowledge each other in public, and stupid duels that end lives, and people swishing round Art Nouveau/Secession Vienna in big hats or spurs. He is all dark green and gold and silver and bits of Mahler and bits of Strauss and sachertorte and coffee with nutmeg in it. I had not read him in thirty years or so and suddenly remember how good he is.
Oh, and he also wrote La Ronde, which is the play in which each scene has one of the lovers from the previous scene with someone else, who in the next scene is with someone else, and so on until the circle goes all the way round. Which, it occurs to me, would be a very cool idea for a slash challenge...