o
interesting
if
the
gift
is the sensibility of it,
more than just the stuff of its gesture,
whereas the notion of (getting rid of) junk
implies a need to be fulfilled
(giving to get rid of something is not the same thing
as unconditionally giving something away)
and this is like trying to unzip the lining of a westernized mind
like closing time in a bar
when one suddenly hears the sound of clinking glasses,
the hum of lights
and individual voices that seem unusually lucid
and one becomes acutely attuned to small gestures,
when cupping a flame to the tip of someone's cigarette
means more than just a smoke,
intoxicated by that grey time outside space
and expecting nothing
but even then
knowing
how
(your)
war
is
nothing
if
not
personal
posted by name of the rose at 12:41 a.m.
24 Comments:
[and individual voices again that seem unusually lucid
and one becomes acutely attuned to small gestures,
when cupping a flame to the tip of someone's cigarette
means more than just a smoke]
[but even so
knowing
how
(your)
war
is
nothing
if
not
personal]
you get it. and I never cease to be amazed by the ... [lucidity] of what you write and I read.
brilliant.
ya well
...there are times when I wish I didn't
.
.
.
t
h
a
n
k
s
yes, I can imagine.
...in that space between [what you write and I read]
it's [that space] that is of interest to me.
...yes, it is interesting
[there is concensus...]
... I can't help but think that you are exercising yourself; is that it? or part of it?
did you mean exorcizing?
clever - made me laugh - but no ... exercising; working the mind ...
because exorcizing is close to it...but then what always overrides the initial catharsis of it, the impetus for it, is just the play of it...how one word leads so musically to the next, line of flight
hadn't thought of it like exercise,
but if it is,
it is like squash
I had to look up 'catharsis' ... I'm flawed; like squash, which you (can) play against yourself, using yourself as a barometer, lobbing it back to yourself for the pleasure of it ...
[sacrificial lean towards the archer and a sight]
there is certainly more than one arrow in your quiver.
this time, I laughed...[...I'm flawed]
[which you (can) play against yourself, using yourself as a barometer, lobbing it back to yourself for the pleasure of it ...] ... riquochet ruminations hitting oneself in the head, you mean?
[there is certainly more than one arrow in your quiver.]...and this, these words, are quite beautiful
[riquochet ruminations hitting oneself in the head, you mean?] ... and self-deprecating, too; you've made me laugh again, though it has happened to me both literally and figuratively more than once.
- [there is certainly more than one arrow in your quiver.]...and this, these words, are quite beautiful -
unfortunately, I can't take credit for this, as it's a derivative of 'je suis que tu as plus d'un corde à ton arc', words from a buddy ... nevertheless, it holds true.
and, as such, you have not so subtly - or effectively - changed the course of the conversation ...
laughing figuratively is like life studies in charcoal?
and yet...
that you thought to send its expression is still beautiful [unfortunately, I can't take credit for this]
[...as such, you have not so subtly - or effectively - changed the course of the conversation ...]
well
to bring it full circle,
perhaps the exercise of it, ideally at least,
is in (jumping) the gaps, in crossing borders or in moving beyond a limit (of words, of self)
or at least,
in trying to become the arrow of these intentions
ah, and she enjoys language like the connaisseur enjoys a nice wine ... and 'stings like a bee and floats like a butterfly' as well, from time to time ... what I should have said, is [[though it ... [hitting oneself in the head] has happened to me both literally and figuratively more than once.]] ...
[and yet...
that you thought to send its expression is still ...]
seeing an arrow for what it is ... like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel as the end ... or as the frontlight of a locomotive barrelling down the tracks ... considering reality as it is; realism.
[... in trying to become the arrow of these intentions]
... and we can only hope that our aim is true.
yes,
sometimes
an arrow is just an arrow...
..remembering how I once stood in the middle of a track thinking 'I can't even catch a train'
yes realism...
but there is also something to be said for Monte Python's (Life of) Brian, while on the cross, singing "always look on the bright side of life"
the end is always the end o f something, end of darkness in [the light] and oh to be [the frontlight of a locomotive barrelling down the tracks] with [hope that our aim is true]
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
yes, your track is my Legion, your 'life of Brian' my swan song, like a never-ending melody that won't leave your mind ... annoying and persistent - and yet curiously funny.
the end is always the end - or beginning - of something, which sounds like a curious riddle, but isn't.
my aim is true; though sometimes the target is off.
and then come those flash flood moments of immense clarity, gifted by grace, when one can step outside of all of it, however briefly [like a never-ending melody that won't leave your mind ... annoying and persistent - and yet curiously funny.] to discover that maybe its Groundhog Day, 'its always 7 am' ergodic loop
[the end is always the end - or beginning - of something]...yes, its both
[my aim is true; though sometimes the target is off.]
and for want (no, need) of sleep, I will never know what got deleted...
track the Legion,
'life' the song,
aim a target
at the riddle
of a never-ending tune
[and then come those flash flood moments of immense clarity, gifted by grace ...]
moments of [clarity] when the stars align and it all makes sense ... I'm reminded of a passage from one of Faulkner's works where he likens the awareness of the force and impact of a flashflood on the Mississippi to a string of ants working their way along train tracks, as unaware of the force and speed of the approaching locomotive as those in the flood plains are of the impending doom.
or in this case, blinding clarity.
[ergodic loop]... systemic issues in an endless cycle, which may or may not be funny.
the deleted post was a repeat; it went through twice.
[track the Legion,
'life' the song,
aim a target
at the riddle
of a never-ending tune]
so simple - and nice.
and burning the candle at both ends, I'd intended to mention, in reference to [needing sleep] ...
yes...
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