There’s a new blog in town. Well, there has been one, for four years now. It’s just, you know, five posts in four years… …just don’t cut it.
Hence a new incarnation of Fosco and His Imaginary Friends, resuscitated, refurbished, revamped, revved up, and some other word starting with r. Or “Fished from the disposal, wiped off, painted over the ugly parts and recycled for more than it’s worth” somebody would say.
The imaginary friends have run for the hills, leaving me, myself, and my to-be-written dissertation here waiting for Godot. Luckily, ‘here’ is just not any ‘here’. Here is Hana-bi, Spiaggia 72, Marina di Ravenna.
Lulled by the hope this could be to me what Rio has been to Stephen Smale, rather than what the fictional Caribbean island has been to Robinson Crusoe – I realize that if it’s true that “90% of your long term happiness is predicted not by the external world but by the way the brain process this world” then the remaining 10% must definitely depend on the fact “me being at the beach.”
So here I am, living the slow-paced life of the South. (Ravenna is the same latitude of Portland, OR – not really South, at least for American standards – but I hope you catch my drift.)
I won’t try to lay out a presumptuous manifesto this time, I’ll abide by what the sage says. This time, I won’t try.