I wonder where I go sometimes when I go, and then return and look around in surprise. It is like that. It is like that now.
First, that is the first thought that an expanse of hardwood floor generates in some of us…the absolute need to take a running start in order to slide across in stockinged feet. Why else should there be the smoothness, the advance sense of the the feet as they touch the willing participation of the wood? [Of course ignore the cat which certainly does not belong there. It is obviously posed and to what purpose one wonders?]
When something is posted online and the lead is: This will really break your heart, or Get the box of kleenex ready, why would I read it? Why would I look? I’m not going to open something that will make me heart sick. Why does anyone?
The world around us, the place where we live, is the construct for our moral behavior. And in this place where we are merged within the many societies that make up our country (with firm boundaries and electric fences) some of the places are a wilderness of liquor stores and gangs and guns and drugs and broken churches. And then for fun someone will interview a very heavy-set woman who is saying that “she ain’t got no food to feed all her chilen.” Whose thoughts then would turn to her need for help?
All of them, all of them to one extent or another, enact the paradox of choices that are not choices, of courses of action that are indistinguishable in consequence from their opposite.
It looks as if there will be no revolution then after all. You see, this is what happens when we do without the narrative form. And it’s not a play either.
Lars Leber Photography
This is a photo of Gold Camp Road, Colorado Springs. We drove up there many times, especially to see the kinetic sculptures of Starr Kempp. Gorgeous pieces. Of course being dismantled and sent away somewhere as the villagers won out and they can no longer be displayed there. Too much traffic with people coming to view—causes traffic problems. The man himself, the creator is long dead now. There are family fights over who gets what and who did what and thoughts of destruction. Here is one of the pieces that was still there when I was. It was so incredibly exquisite with the wind moving the bird about. (I should have done a video!)
And, so as the mice say, that’s the waaayyyyyy things are. At least for today.
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 