somber mood

I read Saul Bellow's Dangling Man yesterday, thus the quotes I decided to share. You can read and enjoy them or just pass through. It's not too important. Bellow is a wonderful writer, in my opinion. However, the story hit a little close to home - being cooped up alone in a small apartment. It truly will an unpleasant person make.

. . . .

So, I'm feeling kind of somber. I haven't written anything in a couple of days. I think I'm afraid my heart will break open and the words will spill out and I'll incriminate myself in one way or another. I haven't even posted on the Orchard. Not because I don't need you people, but because I don't want to tell you that I'm not coming to Nashville this weekend. You see, I don't want to disappoint - and I don't want to give you any of my saddness giving up this trip.

sorry.

I'm not sure what makes me sadder - not going to Nashville or the-other-thing-that-I-don't-want-to-talk-about.

sorry,
-d.

dangling quotes

Theories of a wholly good or a wholly malevolent world strike him as foolish. Of those who believe in a wholly good world he says that they do not understand depravity. As for pessimists, the question he asks them is, "Is that all they see, such people?" For him, the world is both, and therefore it is neither. Merely to make a judgement of that kind is, to representatives of either position, a satisfaction. Whereas, to him, judgement is second to wonder, to speculation on men, drugged and clear, jealous, ambitious, good, tempted curious, each in his own time and with his customs and motives, and bearing the imprint of strangeness in the world. In a sense, everything is good because it exists. Or, good or not good, it exists, it is ineffable, and, for that reason, marvelous.

There is only one worth-while sort of work, that of the imagination.

With all the respect we seem to have for perishable stuff, we have easily accustomed ourselves to slaughter. We are all, after some fashion, the beneficiaries of that slaughter and yet we have small pity for the victims. This has not come with the war, we were ready before the war ever started; it only seems more apparent now. We do not flinch at seeing those lives struck out; nor would those who were killed have suffered any more for us, if we, not they, had been the victims. I do not like to think what we are governed by. I do not like to think about it. It is not easy work, and it is not safe. Its kindest revelation is that our senses and our imaginations are somehow incompetant.

But now I am struck by the arrogance with which I set people apart into two groups: those with worth-while ideas and those without them.

Saul Bellow, The Dangling Man

Mom Does the Beatles

Not literally of course. heh.

One of my earliest and most consistant birthday memories is waking up to my mother singing,

Today is your birthday
na-na-na-na-na-na
Happy Birthday to you
na-na-na-na-na-na

Needless to say, Mom is no John Lennon or Paul McCartney. In fact, she's quite tone deaf, but that never stopped the contageous happiness that she spread in those early birthday mornings. It was a guarentee that your day would, in the very least, be full of smiles.

Now that I'm getting older, I was actually dreading this day. I've been dwelling on how I'm quite into my adulthood, although I don't act much like an adult. I've been looking closely in the mirror at the grey and balding head I sport every day. I even noticed a few new wrinkles - and not like smile-line wrinkles, but old people wrinkles.

And, despite all the negativity that's been in my mind about this recent aging, I woke up today with my mother's voice in my ear. I've been smiling ever since.

free from sin

Not me. Not by any means. But I am free from judgement today, my judgement that is. I am free from the thoughts that have been beating inside my head for the last three weeks. The attack has been non-stop, and keeps me awake like someone endlessly popping bubblewrap. Pop. Pop. Pop-pop-pa-pa-Pop! A barrage of machine gunners killing the last traces of my sanity. And I am free from the reproachful eye that casts it's glare upon me, ever watchful.

Thanks God Almight, I'm free at last.

I honestly think that I've been too harsh on myself lately. And it's not that I've been necessarily disappointed in my actions or words - but that I've been striving too hard. I've been squinting into the sunset, hoping to catch a glimpse of the immortal cherub making his way towards the heavens. And I've been honestly disappointed when I've come up empty handed on all counts. I've often said that I'm a dreamer, but I do not assume the fruition of those dreams. Lately, I have. Lately I've found myself thinking of endless tomorrows that bear no resemblance to this reality. Not only do I believe that these alternate universes are possible (note that I'm an absurdist) but I have gotten it inside me that they are concrete.

Needless to say, this has caused a bit of grief and general manic behavior. But today I've given up my despair by way of losing my desires, and I've found a much happier me.

And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
~William Blake, Garden of Love (ln. 11-12)

sprouting

It can be a frightening shock when you realize that you've lost faith in something that you previously thought impossible to shake. And before anyone get's their panties in a bind, I'm not talking about God or myself or anything so large (heh, I made a funny) but primarily about an idea. It can be frightening to a person when something that they once believed concrete and rooted in fact becomes loose in the soil of their minds.

This happened to me recently. Whilst lieing on my back, although not in a field of clover or anything so fairytail-ish. It was Sunday afternoon, and the weed that had sprouted and been pulled and sprouted time and again, returned - firmly planted itself in my soil. Then, I wondered when I first started considering this flower a weed. Dandelions are considered a weed afterall. Even though I think they are rather pretty. And tasty. And that they make a good prop when singing certain songs.

Mama had a baby and it's head popped off. . .

This flower danced in my breeze, as I thought a long time about who I am and what I am to other people and how I should react in this crazy world full of what we call life. And I suppose I came to a roundabout of sorts. I realized that I had not really grown out of this conundrum or changed positions at all. I had only gotten fairly good at ignoring my heart and shutting off my mind, although I liked to rely on certain poisons of our day. I also realized that I've grown rather tired of not listening to that still small voice, no matter how much pain and agitation it may cause me. I came to realize that my virtue was more important to me than my posterity, be it mental, emotional or physical.

And then I wept a bit, over all the nonsense. Flowers do need to be watered, afterall. And then I slept for a good minute. I imagine that I dreamt about that flower, wafting carelessly in my breeze, but I cannot say for certain.

lost in translation

There is a piece of me that I did not bring along today. Something - an essence, if you will - that I left between the cushions and sweaty, green sheets. I'm sure that it will be waiting for me when I get home. It will greet me, tail wagging, at the door so much like a lost puppy. And although it will be happy to see me return, I will be forlorn. I will scold it's antics and for leaving piddle on the floor.

mid-construct

They've been remodeling our part of the office for the past couple of weeks, and the dust, noise, and general choas is finally starting to get to me. It's hard to think around here, much less get any work done.

On top of all that, we are the lowest department here - the bottom of the food chain - facilities. That means with all the construction, restacks, etc. going on, my work load has quadrupled. Needless to say, my bosses have become overbearing with requests and expect the impossible to get done.

I'm so tired of this place, I could just walk out today.

GOSH!
-d.