i thought it was a white picket fence
November 27, 2015

but it was actually ironexp. I don’t think I put enough ginger in this stew. Perhaps it needs more salt. For some reason it’s the condiment I always forget. Always a little, but I often think I ought to have added more. The carrots are nicely cooked, but it’s possible that I should have added lemon rind rather than a quarter chunk of full lemon. At least the kitchen is clean. The dishes lasted me this last hour, probably because the roommate who is fond of clean kitchen sinks has left for Naples for the weekend.

I was running around half five, up a hill on the ridge of Rome’s outline, which takes me further away its fickle city centre. I have been on that road in the dark twice now; I went running from this flat’s insularity two days ago, also. The white iron fence was where I turned around, the second time, to head back down, avoiding cars and sneaking under street-lights. The stew I have now is ginger, garlic, onion, carrots, softened potatoes, thyme and oregano, a forgotten spatter of salt!, lentils and spinach, with time and pepper added last. And the quarter chunk of full lemon. Rubbished halfway through. Dishes washed while simmered. Two hasty slices of emmental swiss chess chunked in the chakra, melted and then eaten. Three Italian coffees today, three, one and half-past five. Hours alone where I do not consider which is the most appropriate response.

There is nothing notable about today. My mother didn’t call. I spent the first nine hours meaning to round off an app; at least, that’s what I had meant the night before. Then four with the obligation. One with the wind. Two with the stew and dishes. One with you. Where did the other one go? I am happy for my existence. I learned today about React, a shift in the rendering technology of our screens — a simplification, even. A way to write more transparently, meaning, with a theoretical paradigm more understandable, to see results more quickly. I ate cold rice, vegetables coupled with soy sauce for my lunch.

Now I mean to read the JavaScript news, a fascinating collection of worlds, articles meant to help this loving, aging. You can pass functions to functions, meaning that you could explain to me your hopes and masturbations which would condition and clarify an explanation of my hopes; and masturbations. It’s not so much in this that I find programming enriching, but it is easier to explain distance by metaphor. Claire texts me sometimes.

She is studying for an essay she is writing, not in English, but in Chinese. My money stopped working! The bank told me that one of them noticed that I was a fraud; or that there was some sort of fugue they couldn’t account for. They have sent me a new card in the mail, but when I visited the supermarket today (I care for her daily) I could only buy cereal flakes, a chunk of cheese and fondant chocolate! I would not have made the stew had it not, and so I must be glad it did. The stew has rushed into me like ginger.

Though I often think I need to sleep less, I must say that I feel more than ever before that this history will render my present, in the future, something different had this history been another. I wouldn’t have known how to keep myself on all sides, when they sat in the President’s office. I was telling Claire two days ago that this distance affords me social currency hard to find in Princeton’s intoxication. My roommates did not ask me about Paris. Only the internet, where I work these days.

I went running with a sweater. It is that sort of cold here. My own room doesn’t have a heater, to the best of my knowledge, so I am writing to you from a large, oaken table in the clean, kitchen. The gas-lighter we use to ignite the stoves is broken — it doesn’t always work. Sometimes gas creeps against my face, because I am leaning over the stove to see more closely when the fire will catch. My intuition, for some reason, thinks that this will help. I have thought once or twice that if the instrument was broken for long enough, I could set the kitchen on fire for a stew. To date, the fire has kept its peace on the stove-top.

I eat sunflower seeds as a snack during the day now! For the first few hours I did not realize that it is almost as if they are designed to be opened; and so I chewed the shells as well. I keep them in an emptied yoghurt bucket next to my computer, and spit the shells on the upturned lid.

Lots of my love, Lachie

  1. this is a letter i wrote to a friend.

author Lachlan Kermode

Written by Lachlan Kermode who lives and works in Princeton. You should check out his Resume, GitHub, or Twitter.