Buildings have soul, as I've learned though years of shooting pix of them, and this room, with soft ancient music, warm light, and murmuring conversations evoked karmic flashback. Once in the '60s sitting at a table in Big Sur, sharpening a chisel by kerosene lantern, I got this flash. I had done this before, generations back . . . Bus at 7 AM Monday back to Prague. Bus better than train, going through villages, partly on winding country road lined with apple trees.
Tree leaves in surrounding hills turning autumn red and yellow.
Fields of yellow mustard and green cabbages. I feel relief in the soulfulness and purity of the country, but big-city stimulus beckons. Woman in front of me turns around, silhouetted in profile, looks like Mick Jagger in drag, even bigger lips, purple eye liner, . . . The Russians left with their tanks, but returned with their Mafia, who now have a lot of control. Wonderful world of capitalism.