Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Proust's Double

Hauled out that decrepit box again, in search of archived scraps relating to my handsdown favorite professor at college.

Perusing old journals.

George Stambolian.
I love that name.

That's it?

The next line reads, I feel bursting with things to say.

Maybe, but at that moment evidently not about that wonderful man. I have exhausted the box and so am now cast adrift on memories.

On this day I think of him, as of the sublime.

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