Been away for a few weeks: in the meanwhile, my computers have been happily synthesizing.
Friday the 13th. Usually for such occasions we go to a party at the Black Cat Bar, a Nob Hill remnant of the old San Francisco Press Club. For 2021, no party.
Two nights earlier, there was live jazz at the upper bar and as always a spectacular end-of-day foggy view from the dining room. But no other diners to share it.
50 meters from the city limits of my destination: Santa Rosa.
Slower than expected return.
Unearthed, thought lost but found in a dutifully-automated archive: a mixture of Armageddons from Breughel and ISIS, made using software I was writing in late 2015. A collision of apocalyptic worldviews.
Since then: fire, drought, tyrants, protests, Panama papers, plagues of mice and microorganisms.