Notes From Me
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Thursday, October 21, 2004
when you're on that kind of bridge in the wind and you have ashes in your hands letting the river take most of him Finished a Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which I had long imagined (knowing only the title) to be written by a white-haired new-agey guy with soft, unfocused blue eyes. In an English class I teach, a student began, a little ruefully, a little somberly, "I am sorry," she paused, "that An Pan Man cannot control his face." With everyone you meet and everyone who meets you, I think there is a mutual instrumentation of furthering. Not only the pleasant, enlightened, attractive, hip or "nice" people are worthy of attention, but also the odd, the old, the reviled, ugly and unlearned.
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The Journal
Define and Concur, wild like cloudlight The Writer
Wooden boats, musical instruments and fireworks are some of the best inventions. And cameras. I don't believe in following any one person or set of ideas. There are tiny satiations like orchids along the viny forest floor, blooming unseen, more gorgeous than some could keep from weeping over. Whenever I see the occasional sun rise the colors always surprise me like the flavor of tahini in Holland. Subway cars make great rhythm along the tracks, as does wind in treebranches, the sound pattern of running engines, and sometimes clothes in a dryer. I like Sumerian poetry. Archives
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