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Mar. 21st, 2014
Spring, Bah-Humbug!
Mar. 21st, 2014 11:23 amThat noise! Annie is having some lawn work done today. It has been a while. Spring has sprung. I dread the mowing season. And I really hate this noise. Now it looks like another neighbor is countering this noise by cranking up their stereo system to concert noise-levels. Why won’t you just take me now, sweet Jesus?
For my Three Journal, I am working on a long IM discussion with Sugar. I was inspired to read it on the Kindle, allowing me to read it more comfortably and carefully as I pace about the room, instead of sitting down and feeling cramped and crimped.
It feels funny calling up that time when we could have deep, intimate conversations. Though, it is about Graeme, when he was a new love in her life. Nevertheless, I enjoy that sense of connection that we had, or that I at least thought we had.
It feels funny calling up that time when we could have deep, intimate conversations. Though, it is about Graeme, when he was a new love in her life. Nevertheless, I enjoy that sense of connection that we had, or that I at least thought we had.
The Elephant Ears
Mar. 21st, 2014 04:18 pmI guess that mound of grass around the elephant ears was really bothering Pop, despite my efforts to thin it down. Seeing that old guy working on Annie’s lawn gave him ideas. First, he asked me if I had any problems with him getting that mound chopped down. Personally, I wouldn’t have a problem losing the elephant ears altogether and I said ‘no’, but I did give him notice, “You may lose the elephant ears.” However, he brushed it aside, saying that the ears come from underground, suddenly becoming an expert on horticulture. I was happy to let it go. I did my duty.
The guy took forever getting it done. Pop was gone and he spent hours just sitting on our driveway, using the chair that Pop keeps out there. But the job is done. I went out and was at what I saw. That old guy did such a thorough job that he practically left nothing behind but a plot of dirt. Pop might be right that those elephant ears will still come shooting up, but I will be genuinely surprised if they do, save perhaps for the odd two or three. That ground looks so barren. Actually two or three buds wouldn’t be bad, but I am doubtful we will even see those. The next weeks should be interesting, as we watch to see if anything springs up.
* * *
1715
Pop is back. He doesn’t express any regret over the job. But I see him walk off to the side and sort of hand over the fence, and I cannot help imagining that he too feels a certain sadness about it. The elephant ears were one of the few things left that we had to recall Mother, and they were kind of nice, one of the very few saving graces of our bleak, weed-strewn landscape.
The guy took forever getting it done. Pop was gone and he spent hours just sitting on our driveway, using the chair that Pop keeps out there. But the job is done. I went out and was at what I saw. That old guy did such a thorough job that he practically left nothing behind but a plot of dirt. Pop might be right that those elephant ears will still come shooting up, but I will be genuinely surprised if they do, save perhaps for the odd two or three. That ground looks so barren. Actually two or three buds wouldn’t be bad, but I am doubtful we will even see those. The next weeks should be interesting, as we watch to see if anything springs up.
* * *
1715
Pop is back. He doesn’t express any regret over the job. But I see him walk off to the side and sort of hand over the fence, and I cannot help imagining that he too feels a certain sadness about it. The elephant ears were one of the few things left that we had to recall Mother, and they were kind of nice, one of the very few saving graces of our bleak, weed-strewn landscape.
e.e. cummings
Mar. 21st, 2014 06:06 pm“The New Art, maligned though it may be by fakirs and fanatics, will appear in its essential spirit … as a courageous and genuine exploration of untrodden ways.”
-- e.e. cummings
Susan Cheever, the daughter of the writer John Cheever, has written a biography of Cummings. The poet and her father were good friends, and he seemed to be an avuncular figure to her. As for Cummings's modernist style, she notes that it was not always well received. One critic marveled, “What is wrong with a man who writes this?”
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Nothing was wrong with Cummings—or Duchamp or Stravinsky or Joyce, for that matter. All were trying to slow down the seemingly inexorable rush of the world, to force people to notice their own lives. In the 21st century, that rush has now reached Force Five; we are all inundated with information and given no time to wonder what it means or where it came from. Access without understanding and facts without context have become our daily diet.
[...]
Modernism as Cummings and his mid-20th-century colleagues embraced it had three parts. The first was the method of using sounds instead of meanings to connect words to the reader’s feelings. The second was the idea of stripping away all unnecessary things to bring attention to form and structure: the formerly hidden skeleton of a work would now be exuberantly visible. The third facet of modernism was an embrace of adversity. In a world seduced by easy understanding, the modernists believed that difficulty enhanced the pleasures of reading. In a Cummings poem the reader must often pick his way toward comprehension, which comes, when it does, in a burst of delight and recognition.
-- Susan Cheever at Vanity Fair
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
( A poem )
-- e.e. cummings
Susan Cheever, the daughter of the writer John Cheever, has written a biography of Cummings. The poet and her father were good friends, and he seemed to be an avuncular figure to her. As for Cummings's modernist style, she notes that it was not always well received. One critic marveled, “What is wrong with a man who writes this?”
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Nothing was wrong with Cummings—or Duchamp or Stravinsky or Joyce, for that matter. All were trying to slow down the seemingly inexorable rush of the world, to force people to notice their own lives. In the 21st century, that rush has now reached Force Five; we are all inundated with information and given no time to wonder what it means or where it came from. Access without understanding and facts without context have become our daily diet.
[...]
Modernism as Cummings and his mid-20th-century colleagues embraced it had three parts. The first was the method of using sounds instead of meanings to connect words to the reader’s feelings. The second was the idea of stripping away all unnecessary things to bring attention to form and structure: the formerly hidden skeleton of a work would now be exuberantly visible. The third facet of modernism was an embrace of adversity. In a world seduced by easy understanding, the modernists believed that difficulty enhanced the pleasures of reading. In a Cummings poem the reader must often pick his way toward comprehension, which comes, when it does, in a burst of delight and recognition.
-- Susan Cheever at Vanity Fair
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
( A poem )
Friday Night
Mar. 21st, 2014 10:46 pmLate-night ice cream. Feeling a little hungry, feeling a lot blue. Thank god it's Friday, right?
When I was sixteen, if I wasn't pulling a late shift at McDonald's, I was driving around with good-time friends, getting drunk. It wasn't really that fun. But that was because I was still me: one ugly injun runt.
Just killing time before time kills me.
When I was sixteen, if I wasn't pulling a late shift at McDonald's, I was driving around with good-time friends, getting drunk. It wasn't really that fun. But that was because I was still me: one ugly injun runt.
Just killing time before time kills me.