For this day and night, when everything is misted over and the whole world is silent. Here we say our prayers and understand what matters.
It is with a heavy heart that I must report THE FAMILIAR has been paused. There’s no denying the intense readership that showed up for this endeavor: bright, ambitious, inspiring, inquisitive, compassionate, rare, energetic, involved, brave, funny too, and most of all beautifully aware. Unfortunately, I must agree with Pantheon that for now the number of readers is not sufficient to justify the cost of continuing.
If there is solace, find it with her: Xanther remains our new storm, VEM’s as real as any sky, and Redwood depends on no book by me to harrow this world. Read well and live well, then you will love well. The rest is in the wind.
This is so sad. I wish he would go ahead and continue the writing anyway. But then writers need to pay the bills too. Maybe someday…
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.
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.
Two more photos of books, book locations, and the ever-present danger of The Great Waylaid—posed in the bottom photo. We’re all familiar with the problem and joy of being waylaid by information found while looking up other information. A surprise fact or thought which is of course very interesting, leading to other books, other rooms. It is always a wonder to me how some of us ever make it to the store. I have found that some days I have to discipline myself by saying no books or thinking allowed today! At least until some of the tasks have been accomplished. And then the reward is the pleasure of new discoveries, continued adventures.
Just for the heck of it…
Well, it might be difficult to work any of these into a conversation, though I believe many people know of the Carpe Diem. And some of these are easily translated, for example: In vino veritas. Although you must be drinking wine in order to use it, yes?
“For me Beethoven must be the Greatest composer ever Lived. Probably he was the only Composer who never failed to realize what the next note should be.”
That seems mainly true of all great or fine—or even just purposeful pursuits—yes? Sometimes I know the next note, sometimes not. When not there’s a flatness to it, a lack of energy. But we mere mortals must plod along.