I have just made myself a martini. Alas, by now I make them much better than in most places this side of the Atlantic, so I have even fewer reasons to go out on a Friday night. I have sat down to write, although I am not sure exactly what. Maybe I wish to somehow celebrate that as of today the Place Under Renovation is no longer under renovation and is ready for us to partly move in (‘partly’ as in ‘when not in the Outpost’). Maybe I wish to write about Yu, who cannot have her child baptised into the Outpost Apostolic faith, because it was born outside of wedlock, something that I am confident is against all principles even of the said faith. Perhaps I could wax lyrical about the taste of my extra dry martini in my mouth right now, and how this drink subtly sets the pace of that haunting and beautiful film, Revolutionary Road, scene after scene. It could also be the case that I would like to reminisce about Stuttgart and in anticipation of my going back to Germany on business later this summer. I even thought I would write about the strange angelic hierarchies adopted wholesale by the Christian faith, coming from God knows where, what with their six-winged Seraphim and their wheel-shaped Thrones (or Ophanim); I once thought I would write a piece of fiction involving them, but Philip Pullman came first, in a very interesting (and inchoate) way, too. I actually thought I could adopt an Ophan as my own personal symbol; if I were younger I could even tattoo it on my forearm. Perhaps I still can.
So, here is a post with nothing to say. Goodnight, my good folks.