Written 2010
Beer is better than good in Belgium.
Back in the 80s I drank in a bar behind the Gallerie des Reines. A small bar. No one of consequences frequented the back street bar. Seats for 10. Draft beer. Le Mort Subite and Hoegaarten. One great for winter. The other superb for summer.
The tradition survived to this day.
Temperature in New York is over 80.
The warm side of the summer equinox. Hoegaarten. My landlord AP had returned from a dinner. He criticized my relocation of older writing onto present logs. I told him that they had been re-written. AP sees me a lot. He knows the truth. Writing and Art is not a speed game. They require thought.
Hoegaarten prevents thought.
At least constructive thought, unless the thinker considered setting his house on fire constructive.
Not really, so it is good spirited drinking for the autumnal equinox.
The pagans called it Mabon, a harvest holiday seeking to thank Mother Earth. AP, my landlord, and I drank two bottles of Hoegaarten. Each. The Brooklyn sky is clear of stars.
The future is clear.
More beer until Beermas.