Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Many days. No words.

Feels like it's all been said. So many people all over the media screaming their stories, their accomplishments. I admit a certain addiction to facebook, but with it comes a loathing for it and the edited versions of lives that people lay out for viewing: The Braggarts' Museum.

I did I do I sang I published I read I wrote I painted I sculpted I grew I raised I earned I cooked I confabulated I imagined I completely made-up.

Oy.
Vey.
(Vocab stolen from former Jewish boyfriend.)

And in the interim, it all goes, and goes, and goes.
In the interim, there's a dentist appointment for Major Work for which I've finally saved enough $$$.
In the interim, there's betrayal and disappointment ( the opposite of appointment? A "dental disappointment?! Gawd I hope not.)
There are earthquakes and riots and seizures and cancers and even hernias being sewn neatly back up into one's interior regions (fancy that).
Seeds I planted a week ago sprout up from the soil, amazingly. I tell you, it's a fucking miracle: a tiny brown husk-of-a-thing pressed into some dirt — dirt, for god's sake! — and with a little water, a little sunshine and patience, it transforms itself into a thin spindly green thing wavering in the afternoon breeze. I bow down to my tray of thin spindly green things! Sing praise!

And in the interim: a desire for invisibility. To not have my name known as anything. We're facing our own extinction, folks, so why all this huffing and puffing to self-promote? (Speaking here of so many writers I know. Alas.)

And what is it we'll leave in our wakes?
—a ripple in the surface of a still lake, if we're lucky.
—dust that rustles up in a quick sidelong breeze.
—effluvia, vapor, will-o'-the-wisp.




7 comments:

  1. Heh heh: me (writer) about to braggart post about the boat I bought today and I scroll to the bottom of your page ... Made me smile.

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    1. Sarah, your new boat is about as modest as they come, and a beauty at that!

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  2. Such is life.... but also lots of fun (hopefully).

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    1. Yes Cro, always, ALWAYS fun! xT.

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  3. I know what you mean, Therese. I try not to be guilty of too much self-promotion myself. Prince Harry hates selfies apparently so it can't be all bad. I often go to poetry readings and they have Guest Readers whose bios go on and on when they are introduced by the Moderator (?) and I just think, "yeah, we know they are bigshots, cut to the chase!" And yes, the poor old planet is going to hell in a handbasket while our so-called leaders sit on their hands and suck up to Big Business. But we have the small mercies to keep us sane: the song of a bellbird, a crisp autumn day with the clean surf rolling in, an achievement of our child, a nice meal, a good chat with a friend...the list goes on. Love and warm wishes, Andrew.

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    1. Yes, Andrew, the small mercies are what save us. Today it was the wisteria winding up into the hibiscus (shades of green on green) and an outbreak of new ferns in my garden. And some paint blending that made me swoon: imdizalone brown/alizarin crimson/dioxazine purple, brushed up into russets and oranges. Made me giggle, actually. Warm wishes back-atcha! —T.

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  4. The moon, always, too.

    Any and all sightings over Manhattan of the moon at any point in her cycle gives me breathless joy.

    Love, C.

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