Yesterday leaves residue on today, sediment that sticks to itself as it falls, building a stalagmite. I’m constantly surprised at how the pile hasn’t toppled over, but time is ofc no fragile mound; it doesn’t just fall over. It keeps going.

I’m in Palermo a night early, waiting for another sticky night to become a hot and sticky tomorrow. Waiting for others to arrive, and taking long hours to eat arancini and sip on something, chat with the people sitting next to me. I hear about how the hostels somewhere else are better, how this couple is going to retire together next year, and how a spot further up this alley that I used to love getting 2am sandwiches at, is closed forever.

We'd sit there and watch mopeds fly by with five people on them, watch shisha go up, galyans in every color. Returns to the same place, even to the exact coordinate, are always so different.

Cats pull up outside the small apartment that is mine for the night (thank you Mario), reminding me of the cats in Cairo, and of the cats that come out from under gates and cars parked uptown in Washington Heights, the most skiddish of the three.

I go somewhere familiar on via Maqueda, where I know there isn’t the best food—I go to a spot on the strip that I know quite well as one to avoid, but right now it’s where the activity is and it’s getting late, and I don’t even truly need this arancino, I just want to sit and enjoy a moment surrounded by fast talkers and sounds that make you wonder where they came from.

Walking past the big cathedral lined with palm trees where there are supposed to be palm trees (and you can tell by the height and how they don’t look sickly, how they don’t sway like fragile horselegs), I see the Santa Rosalia float, all alone. I’ve only ever seen it lit up, rolling down the street during the yearly festival held in her name, flanked by thousands of people, spilled drinks, and loud music. Alone like an alley cat, it suddenly looks a lot smaller.

I walk around the float moving like an image mapper algorithm, making a full picture out of points with my eyes and feet. You can’t prove the moon is still there when you turn around, etc.—there is no complete picture unless I can circumscribe it.

The next day, when I miss a highway turnoff and have to loop alllllll the way back around, the pattern recognizes itself: loose circles, circumscription (like description with rounded corners). I became fixated on what the hell the word “about” even means, and arrived at the conclusion that "about" is "to draw a shape around."

About is not an answer, but a region or an area. Young limes on the tree and desert rose. Lines of olive and deep horse noises. There was never an answer, no matter how we pushed it.

Demarcating and trying to define. Again, I’m caught up thinking about boundaries and the boundless.

There are stone walls and a fanning array of olive trees. We’re like, an hour south of Palermo now, at the spot we’re supposed to end up at. Horses make their noises, stomping every couple minutes. The air they push through their flappy mouths bubbles, like the pool water draining in and out of the filter gates.

Everything in sight draws a loose circle around something else, but the meaning is never contained by that demarcation. Even around the table or in the kitchen is a quiet knot of people, and the earth moves around the sun on axes of varying tilt, while everything in the universe disperses further and further.

Care about / read about / I don’t play about - understanding anything about

Just like one sentence is never enough, “about” is never narrow. Even a movie or a song or a meal “about” something is always about more than you’re able to relay. It’s always about something different than what you said, it’s about something you wish you said.

At night, I read this classic essay from the New Inquiry, “Crushed.” All the cigs (Marlboro touch, a new one for me) and the microplastics in my brain and the citronella fumes are making it extra emotional. But I think this is going to need to be saved for next week. We’ve already driven so much today…

Cheers, lifestar.