Cold = hibernate.

For is not the very metaphor for the love of God for mankind a cradle? aka, a bed? and is there anything at all wrong with just chilling out/checking out for an evening or so, when the weather is cold and it's also, and not uncoincidentally, dark?

Sigh.

Where is my motivation?

[side note: the historian thinks

that Carmelo A. is a punk.]

And on that note, I will leave you with this, from a book that arrived today. I ordered it because I no longer remember why, way back awhile ago when somewhere I ran across it and had to have it but it wasn't quite printed yet, a book called L'Usage du Monde, trans. The Way of the World. It is written by Nicolas Bouvier, and it is about the year and half (1953-54) in which he and his friend Thierry drove in their old Fiat from Geneva to the Khyber Pass:

Travelling outgrows its motives. It soon proves sufficient in itself. You think you are making a trip, but soon it is making you--or unmaking you.

Young Nicolas.

And this is where they went. Although sometimes they stopped for a bit, to linger, slouch around, perhaps . . . to hibernate? Reading on . . .

TAGS: Afghanistan, Iran, travel, hibernate