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Feb. 21st, 2006
(no subject)
Feb. 21st, 2006 11:32 amThings that set my teeth on edge:
The word "lover" from anyone but Debbie Harry.
The words "intimate", "erotic", "sensuous" and "taboo".
Combinations thereof. Presumably everyone's with me here.
The Millay poem where they go back and forth on the ferry.
The Williams poem with those excruciating plums.
The movie Frailty.
The movie Donnie Darko.
Whatever has happened to music these last seven, eight years.
Tamarind seeds in Indian food.
Academic jargon.
The word "lover" from anyone but Debbie Harry.
The words "intimate", "erotic", "sensuous" and "taboo".
Combinations thereof. Presumably everyone's with me here.
The Millay poem where they go back and forth on the ferry.
The Williams poem with those excruciating plums.
The movie Frailty.
The movie Donnie Darko.
Whatever has happened to music these last seven, eight years.
Tamarind seeds in Indian food.
Academic jargon.
(no subject)
Feb. 21st, 2006 11:55 amA happiness limited to just an event or aspect of the whole progression will not endure; and what happiness can withstand this knowledge, once possessed?
The quest is for a happiness abstracted from larger, longer calls and organizations. It is to find good flavor from the whole--or, failing that, good flavors from vast obvious tracts. An enclosure you don't have to leave, a caravan you'll find again.
As time abdicates in favor of time enclosures open out and are dispersed, most caravans are lost or quarrel away, even mountains drown in dust of their own grinding. The quest's now not just through the evil, but unto the evil. Secrets of endurance and of patience must be won.
The danger before was death on the journey or blind callousness in safety. Now it is taking in too much of what is seen, until it makes of you its own shape to contain it. Lidding that alone, without an eye.
It's saddest when the good becomes a word and nothing more. You find it under the table some months later and you put it on some bare patch of the wall, since walls must be covered.
But there the secrets are. If you can make the world to work for just a moment...
The work is double: Make a glove to catch you when you fall. Make a glove to catch you when you fall from that one.
Juggle yourself.
The quest is for a happiness abstracted from larger, longer calls and organizations. It is to find good flavor from the whole--or, failing that, good flavors from vast obvious tracts. An enclosure you don't have to leave, a caravan you'll find again.
As time abdicates in favor of time enclosures open out and are dispersed, most caravans are lost or quarrel away, even mountains drown in dust of their own grinding. The quest's now not just through the evil, but unto the evil. Secrets of endurance and of patience must be won.
The danger before was death on the journey or blind callousness in safety. Now it is taking in too much of what is seen, until it makes of you its own shape to contain it. Lidding that alone, without an eye.
It's saddest when the good becomes a word and nothing more. You find it under the table some months later and you put it on some bare patch of the wall, since walls must be covered.
But there the secrets are. If you can make the world to work for just a moment...
The work is double: Make a glove to catch you when you fall. Make a glove to catch you when you fall from that one.
Juggle yourself.