Thinking out Loud & Making Comments
From a sampling of cat logic. Feel free to answer True or False.
Boston ferns are brought indoors.
Boston ferns shed a great deal.
Humans sweep up Boston-fern sheds.
Humans sweep Boston-fern sheds into neat little piles.
Cats jump into once neat little Boston-fern shed piles.
Therefore
Cats spread Boston-fern sheds more than Boston ferns shed.
And here is the author himself, quite noble and pleased with his abilities, Baby Z, aka Zooie Cat, or Zeus.
From a posting by Follies of God.
As Lois Smith and Julie Harris have said, James Dean was a sweet and sensitive actor, beautifully handled by Elia Kazan and his friends. It was all happening far too quickly.
With thanks to Magnum Photos
And he was my first love, my first crush. A symbol of what was to come in a love for bad boys: the unavailable, those meant to die young in a flurry of dreams and fast cars. You know, the kind you play the sad songs for. The ones who break your heart.
“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power.
Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.”
~Arundhati Roy, ‘The Cost of Living’
Posted by Hell and Earth.
Another of those of us seeking social justice and reasons. Ultimately it comes back to the why of it. Why are we here? What is our purpose? And the things that fascinate us and transform us along the way.
A new-to-me poet, Louise Glück has tossed me a morsel or two to enchant me and cause me to pursue her poetry. Better yet, here’s what she has to say about it all. (More in the way of actual poetry to follow.)
“It seems to me that the desire to make art produces an ongoing experience of longing, a restlessness sometimes, but not inevitably, played out romantically, or sexually. Always there seems something ahead, the next poem or story, visible, at least, apprehensible, but unreachable. To perceive it at all is to be haunted by it; some sound, some tone, becomes a torment — the poem embodying that sound seems to exist somewhere already finished. It’s like a lighthouse, except that, as one swims towards it, it backs away.”
Louise Glück
Photograph by Webb Chappell
My only question is why aren’t there more books on the shelves?
I was reading along in my old diary posts when I considered I’ve been incredibly remiss about posting here. I’m not at all sure why. So then the decision was about selection. Choices. “It’s all about choices” someone I worked with always said. Said a lot anyway. It may be true.
Some Random Date
Just from my recall, responses I wish I had given. I don’t know why but I just thought of this last night. Apropos of nothing:
Me: (Calling my mother and getting her on the phone.) John (not his real name of course) and I are going to get married!
Mo: Well I want to wish you good luck because you are certainly going to need it.
I don’t know what I said after that, but I’m sure it was nothing creative. I’ve had a lot of years to think about it since then. What I wish I would have said:
Me: I guess that means you’re a no for the ceremony. (slight pause) A maybe on the reception?
September 18, 2023
Yep. That’s the actual date.
So where are you love—where have you been? I’ve been in a shoe, a box, a football-game bench but do not think I berate… Forgot again again? And the pain given up for whatever’s behind The wait.
I came here to note something down. Now I’m ready so I can go dumb.
Morbs! I have the morbs from all my thinking-about. Morbs is from morbid and is used as an abstract noun, originated in the 1880s. And I’m sure it’s a word that would fit in a current Urban Dictionary.
The above is just to show the groanings my mind goes through as it casts about for some meaningful topic or vision—or something—anything to merit a distraction. See? This is why people turn to drugs.
Picture From U.S. Dept. of Interior. Fireflies looking like tiny UFOs
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 