The birds are reclaiming the garden. A pair of robins nest in the ivy perhaps eight feet from my window. It’s their second brood. I watch the adults going in and out, but can’t quite see the chicks. The old cat is no threat to them any more. If he’s out there at all, he sleeps or sits there blinking benignly. Everything is very overgrown this year.
Rereading: Robert Aickman, Cold Hand in Mine (with its epigraph from Sacheverell Sitwell, “In the end it is the mystery that lasts and not the explanation”). “The Swords” still seems like the most perfect grotesque story ever written, deep sexual politics, body horror & some inexplicable edge surgically inserted between the mimetic & the surreal. Soul horror. It would be nice to get back to the out-&-out Gothic. Watching: Engrenages, series 2. Guilty pleasure: Faber Finds. Relieved to be inside: the last chapter of Pearlant.
I have to work–speaking of the guilty pleasure–to stay off the new Vivian Maier site. Though in a way I still associate the Maier experience with Maloof’s original blog. & now there’s a book, for those who still like them. & for those who still leave their houses, she’s at the London Street Photography Festival, the German Gymnasium, Kings Cross, July 1 – July 24.