Serotonin

Snow again. This was the Nunnery yesterday, the back porch facing west:


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I got sleep finally, Friday after sidebar and six fingers of my bro Johnny Walker Black. The core crew was yours truly and JB, but we were joined by lovelies Laurel and Elizabeth, good girls both. Spank dropped by, always good to see her, and J made a brief appearance. Liz, Laurel and I left early. I went home to dry out and ended up sleeping, early 'til late.

Mark was over last night. We polished the Don Julio and fucked with Ableton a bit more.

And r.i.p. Bobby Fischer. Bobby was a Glenn Gould of strategy and a Brando of brutality. I reviewed game 6 of his '72 match with Spassky the other day. It must have been terrifying to face him. His openings were erudite and dispassionate, his middle-game patient and robust, his endgame ruthless. He had more attention than his opponents, and seemed to know what they were thinking.