A Portal

I reread Slowness by Milan Kundera yesterday, at one point listening to Nirvana Unplugged. It appears strange to admit that I haven't listened to Nirvana much in the last decade. I first read Slowness in Indianapolis on a rainy Saturday in 1996 at a small cafe called MT Cup. What a prescient novel! The swarming notions of the dancer and the invisible audience, the fleeting spotlights of History and the piercing notion that only in Humiliation can Contemporary Man find meaning albeit ephemeral: all of this was riveting.

The snow has begun again. I have been occupied with Amitav Ghosh.