On Sunday morning I got a third of
“Titicaca” by Serge Gainsbourg memorized. I discovered that I didn’t have all
the words in one of the lines and so I tracked those down and had to adjust the
translation.
So
many sirens today one would think that they had become an industry. Maybe
they’ve learned to harvest the sound as an energy source to power a city of
deaf people. The siren shooting vehicles are like a tribe of savage cowboys
shooting up the town on a Sunday night. All this while I was trying to
concentrate on writing my Indigenous Studies essay.
I
took an early siesta in the late morning and when I got up at 13:00 and except
for making a quick lunch and later a quick dinner, I worked steadily for almost
twelve hours. By half past midnight I had finally whittled my notes down to
just over a five-page essay. I went to bed thinking about how I was going to
pull the home part of the paper into some sort of harmony with the Toronto
part.
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