June arrived and brought with it the gilded sunsets that turn everyone into angels. Even the detestable cars looked perfect for a few seconds, gleaming in the hazy light.
The garden entered the height of the growing season. It was hard to believe that just a few months ago there was nothing here but withered sticks and frozen dirt. A friend visiting from L.A. expressed her astonishment at the Eastern spring, since she had only seen New York in August or January. It was true, I said, that there were a few good weather days each year in the city, and on those days -- at least now -- you could almost see the plants writhing with desire.
We've officially entered campanula season, also.
The spidery clematis continue to bloom in the firethorns and the Virginia creeper, which are now covering one of our walls. Speaking of spiders, on Wednesday morning I woke up with a swollen, tender ankle, which upon closer inspection revealed two tiny bite marks; apparently I had been bitten by a black widow or a tarantula or a brown recluse or maybe even an alien in my sleep. I didn't understand why the cats had failed to protect me.
"So not interested in spiders." -- Dante
"I can catch them, but it's going to cost you." -- Zephyr
After hobbling around for a few days and eating handfuls of ibuprofen, the swelling decreased and my foot remained attached to my leg. The Japanese maple didn't really care about my plight, given that it had ants crawling all over it.
We planted an arbor vitae fern (selaginella braunii) in some vacant real estate left behind by one of the azaleas that didn't make it through the winter. (R.I.P.) Introducing a new species to the garden is always a bit of a risk, as we recently confirmed while reviewing the plant tags we had stored in the drawer of an armoire we were giving to a friend. So much hope and so much failure.
At least the sycamore maple seems to be hanging on and even thriving, despite a major amputation (or, really, a decapitation).
The new growth on the dawn redwood looked like green clouds in the setting sun.
The grapes had already stretched out and fallen asleep.
Reminding us that, as soon as the light disappeared, we would do the same.
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06/07/2014
ORDER HERE
A RADICAL NEW MYTH ABOUT SEX, FAITH, AND THOSE OF US WHO WILL NEVER DIE
A young boy wanders into the woods of Harlem and witnesses the abduction of his sister by a glowing creature. Forty years later, now working as a New York City homicide detective, Gus is assigned to a case in which he unexpectedly succumbs to a vision that Helen is still alive. To find her, he embarks on an uorthodox investigation that leads to an ancient civilization of gods and the people determined to bring them back.
In this colossal new novel from the author of The Metropolis Case, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice collides with a new religion founded by three corporate office workers, creating something beautiful, illogical, and overwhelming. Part sex manifesto, part religious text, part Manhattan noir—with a dose of deadly serious, internet inspired satire—#gods is a sprawling inquest into the nature of faith and resistance in the modern world. With each turn of the page, #gods will leave you increasingly reborn.
Praise for #gods
“#gods is a mystery, an excavation of myths, an index of modern life, a gay coming-of-age story, an office satire, a lyrical fever dream, a conspiracy. One of the most ambitious novels in recent memory—and a wild, possibly transformative addition to the canon of gay literature—it contains multitudes, and seethes with brilliance.” —Mark Doten, author of The Infernal
“Matthew Gallaway’s #gods is a novel so brilliant, so funny, so full of strange and marvelous things, I couldn’t stop writing OMG WTF I <3 THIS SO MUCH in its margins. It’s rare to find a novel that so dazzlingly reinvigorates age-old meditations on faith and f&!*ing, art and eros. Luminous, enterprising, and sublimely cheeky, #gods tells the story, the myth, the dream of the human soul in all its glorious complexity.” —Suzanne Morrison, author of Yoga Bitch
“Matthew Gallaway’s storytelling manages to be both dreamy and serious; lean and luxurious. His words carry an incantatory power of mythic storytelling where beauty and savagery wrap around each other like bright threads in a gorgeous tapestry.” —Natasha Vargas-Cooper, author of Mad Men Unbuttoned: A Romp Through 1960s America
“If the ancient gods were just like us, only more so, then the same could be said for this strange, wonderful book, in which the mundane sorrows and small triumphs of very ordinary lives glow ever so slightly around the edges, sometimes quite literally. At once an oddly romantic send-up of dead-end office culture and an offbeat supernatural procedural, #gods is terrifically weird, melancholy, sexy, and charming.” —Jacob Bacharach, author of The Bend of the World
'It’s to the credit of Matthew Gallaway’s enchanting, often funny first novel that it doesn’t require a corresponding degree of obsession from readers, but may leave them similarly transported: the book is so well written — there’s hardly a lazy sentence here — and filled with such memorable lead and supporting players that it quickly absorbs you into its worlds.'
-- The New York Times
Music: Death Culture at Sea and Saturnine
Listen or download songs and records from my indie-rock past with Saturnine here and Death Culture at Sea here.
Music Video: Remembrance of Things Past
Watch the rock opera Remembrance of Things Past written and performed by Saturnine and Frances Gibson, starring Bennett Madison and Sheila McClear.
Video: The Chaos Detective
The Chaos Detective is a series about a man searching for 'identity' as he completes assignments from a mysterious organization. Watch the first episode (five parts) on YouTube.