Quotes to like or puzzle over: “There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and only those things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real.” ― James Salter, All That Is
More wars against humanity as we pull out of Syria. It just doesn’t stop.
This following paragraph has been changed to blue font to indicate that it has been edited for clarityafter being published.
And I lose hope in ourselves as the impeachment enquiry continues. That is, I get the politics of it. If we move againstfor impeachment itself in the congress, we may get it—likely would—but then lose via an impeachment vote in the senate. We need to have an outrageous list of high crimes and misdemeanors for the senate (republican controlled) to contribute to an actual impeachment by their votes and then a vote to find him guilty. move against him. (He of the orange “caused by the new light bulbs.”) This is why, I believe, republicans push with new outrageous comments to drive dems to move too soon.
Meanwhile, I Write
With this photo and posting I finally figure out why I can’t see certain photos on my iPhoto site and delete at same time from phone. Either for that matter. Just another Duh. Because I’m looking for an action(s) that only takes place when I plug in my camera to the MacBook. I also discover that I’ve got so many irrelevant photos stored and have no idea how that came to be. And the last time I deleted photos from a device I had to go back and restore as they were not just on that device, but also on the computer, and both deleted. Just another price for ignorance, or the lack of attention.
About the photos, though. The On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous book by Ocean Vuong is just incredibly beautiful. It is impossible to read without a notebook nearby and so it is also taking a very long time to read. I believe I began at the beginning of October as it drags me along and into the mind of a culture and change from Vietnam to the U.S. It is a book of poetry written in prose form. The pain of belonging in a body and mind that do not fit into anything but joy and passion. He (the narrator and author?) struggles with emotions and life—from his mother to his lover and their lives in this world. The prose is short, compact, and powerful. A mere 242 pages, I wonder if I’ll ever finish this book, this story, this autobiography, this fiction of a novel.
The Weil Conjectures is much the same in the effects upon reader, though completely different in subject, or maybe not. As with all fine books, it is also a search for Truth. Karen Olsson writes of Simone Weil*—philosopher, social activist, and mystic—and her brother Andre’—mathematician—or mostly about their relationship, the effects upon one another and thusly upon Olsson. Of course as it is in such cases, it is more the effect of Andre’ upon Simone. This is another book of which I have attempted to keep the pages pristine, although I don’t know how long I will last before forgetting—so moved by a passage or the words that describe the coming together of a thought, as in “On Earth,” wherein that resolve was so quickly forgotten. And did I know that it was the Hindus who first used negative numbers? If I did, I had forgotten. (And I should have known because of Ramanujan & infinity.) More about imaginary numbers. Don’t we always think of Math and Science as being long secure and straight paths, moving along uncovering and describing themselves as they go? We hardly think of them as fraught with disbelief and arguments and ridicule as they make their way into our lives battered and worn from the battles.
It helps us to remember as we bemoan the absurdities of flat earthers and anti-climate changers, though they have been at it for way too long.
We went to the climate-change strike on Friday the 20th. The kid and the granddog Sullivan came for the event, and Lizzy Fig went to the health spa for cats while we attended. The strike was just that, as advertised, and not at all a demonstration ala the 60-70s. Which was of course fine, their call, but quite different for me. The last time I was at a demonstration (when I got hit by a rock, but another story) we were marching across the U of Iowa campus shouting: Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today!
But today’s times are quite different, as we well know. There were quite a few speeches and only a very few chants, no marching. I was a wee bit disappointed in the format as it seemed to me that speeches about why something need be done were unnecessary. The crowd there already knew something should and must be done. Perhaps what might have been more powerful. That and more chants. Not only do I love chants, but crowds respond to chants, and a slogan is great for unification. It will come, I’m sure. At least the many gatherings across the world sent a message. Now for continued pressure and forward movements. It was at least inspiring to me with a remembrance that every little bit helps. And I’ve renewed my efforts to eliminate plastic from my life.
Town Square, downtown Cleveland
Meanwhile, at the health spa for cats, it wasn’t exactly a rapturous event.
Subsequent photos of Lizzy saying hi to me showed no movement. She was fine once I got her home, even in the car with me. She’s just too shy and timid for life out there.
Really. Books moved and dropped and yet again with the fire. I set the oven on fire yesterday, as is my seeming need to start fires and it’s been quite a while. The short version: plastic item left in the oven, a preheat setting that caused melting and mess. So off we went. A whole heck of a lot of smoke, rolling like clouds, and small flames jutting through the burners on top. Inside the oven, an amazingly attractive and petite melt of strings and pearls. The photos do not due justice.
I ended up with forms to rival that of the crayons melted in a child’s Easy-Bake Oven.
Another in-between we go. I want to talk about the past week/weekend with the kid here & climate change, but cannot yet as moving forward calls for more books to be reviewed in order to empty the large bookcase. The bookcase-headboard was cleaned out and is ready for exit, and I have started on the large bookcase in the dining area. These things will make it decidedly easier for the faux-wood floor and carpeting to be installed. They are scheduled for next week. I need to review the storage and boxes in the garage also, as that is where the bookcase and headboard will go. And those of course will not be easily addressed. No doubt larger areas of disarray will follow. *sigh* *heavy-heaves of sighs*
Meanwhile again, let us contemplate those things said that make us dig deeper into the psyche as we move forward and stay in the same place, which can never be in the same place. And there is no forward or backward either, as we well know, and as all of the fellows of Being tell us. Which again, can only be known if we already know them.
P.S. I thought I heard just then the warning calls of Jacob Gator. Jake was the conure-parrot who lived with me. He would issue his warning sound and the dog(s) would go running and barking for the door. He would tease with this sound and make the dogs and me quite crazy with all of the commotion. I loved him desperately, and do still.
SF with Joel, in 1997? I was living in Delaware, OH, working for Nationwide Insurance. The company was supposed to pay for my trip at a training session and I had asked Joel to come with me. It was cancelled at the last minute, so Joel and I decided to go anyway. We had a great time wandering about, exploring and taking photos. We stayed at a great little motel next to the tenderloin area.
We of course did the Beatnik tour, saw Allan Ginsberg’s apartment, as well as all of the old places: Grateful Dead apartment house, the Purple Onion, visited City Lights bookstore, and went across Jack Kerouac Alley to Vesuvio’s where we drank and ate.
The inscription on the wall reads: “when the shadowof the grasshopper falls across the trail of the field mouse on green and slimy grass as a red sun rises above the western horizon silhouetting a gaunt and tautly muscled indian warrior perched with bow and arrow cocked and aimed straight at you it’s time for another martini.”
This episode has resurfaced as I’m still cleaning and clearing which causes photos to reappear. If you look closely at the inside of the bar you will see a photo of James Joyce on the back wall.