okay. was out for a rainy day loop or two around the park. came right upon a squirrel burying a nut in the grass. he looked straight at me and without looking away for even a second, reached pretty far out and grabbed a nearby leaf. He put it most deliberately over his hole and stepped on it back and forth and back and forth, left and right - as if that made the leaf's position more credible and harder to see. (kinda reminded me of the George Bush "I'm-explaining-things-to-you-now" hand movements). The squirrel held my eyes as I jogged away as if to dare me to pick out the very the leaf next time around and find that nut.
sure enough. some (too many) minutes later...
could be that one. then again, could be THAT one. hmm
how he's going to remember months hence when all the leaves are blown away ... just another mystery
another leaf on a pile of questions
another thing I can't do as good a a rodent
another day on this pretty, funny planet with winter coming on.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
weird and kinda stupid, but i have time on my hands
okay so here i am at the rockpile, logging in some extra hours so i can buy my ski pass this year.
not much to do, which is weird for me, hyper, hovering teacher-creature that I am..
so. i won't remember much about last night's dream (though I can feel the space I was living in -- fluttering cloth walls -that won't present itself to me now, as won't the face of the man I fell in love with).. But i do want to jot down something of the ending which was cool and had also happened at the otherwise forgotten beginning and in the also otherwise forgotten middle.
So...before the ending... I am the only one who can operate on the puppy. the pilot's puppy. it is my specialty to operate on the puppies of pilots (what the hell? there is probably some obvious weird Freudian thing in here. ...babies of flying dogs? um, fluffy... oh, i don't know. i'm not getting it).. But the pilot doesn't believe me because I a girl and young (...in the dream). I operate through a window. I am precise, accurate and in no time the once tragically fragile creature is animated and darling. I am given the puppy, not by the pilot but by whoever vouched for my skills as a surgeon. Why do I get to keep it? Should I? I don't really want the puppy. It belongs to the pilot. But I walk outside with it, carrying it in a glass box. Just outside I immediately fall thunderclap in love with someone whose face I can no longer see. I drop the puppy in the glass box.
And this was the cool part visually and viscerally: just then - like in the beginning and middle of the dream that I've also forgotten -- the world zips away, fast like a stage set but in full believable huge neighborhood-size space, big chunks of the world just swiped off (building/deck/dead puppy STAGE LEFT) (creek/clouds/street STAGE RIGHT) (background town/downtown buildings/night sky STAGE LEFT) and is gone.
This has happened before. It will happen again, because that's just how it goes. As soon as the story is done the world swipes the stage clean and something else begins to happen. A floor slips under my feet, white and plain.
not much to do, which is weird for me, hyper, hovering teacher-creature that I am..
so. i won't remember much about last night's dream (though I can feel the space I was living in -- fluttering cloth walls -that won't present itself to me now, as won't the face of the man I fell in love with).. But i do want to jot down something of the ending which was cool and had also happened at the otherwise forgotten beginning and in the also otherwise forgotten middle.
So...before the ending... I am the only one who can operate on the puppy. the pilot's puppy. it is my specialty to operate on the puppies of pilots (what the hell? there is probably some obvious weird Freudian thing in here. ...babies of flying dogs? um, fluffy... oh, i don't know. i'm not getting it).. But the pilot doesn't believe me because I a girl and young (...in the dream). I operate through a window. I am precise, accurate and in no time the once tragically fragile creature is animated and darling. I am given the puppy, not by the pilot but by whoever vouched for my skills as a surgeon. Why do I get to keep it? Should I? I don't really want the puppy. It belongs to the pilot. But I walk outside with it, carrying it in a glass box. Just outside I immediately fall thunderclap in love with someone whose face I can no longer see. I drop the puppy in the glass box.
And this was the cool part visually and viscerally: just then - like in the beginning and middle of the dream that I've also forgotten -- the world zips away, fast like a stage set but in full believable huge neighborhood-size space, big chunks of the world just swiped off (building/deck/dead puppy STAGE LEFT) (creek/clouds/street STAGE RIGHT) (background town/downtown buildings/night sky STAGE LEFT) and is gone.
This has happened before. It will happen again, because that's just how it goes. As soon as the story is done the world swipes the stage clean and something else begins to happen. A floor slips under my feet, white and plain.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Look Homeward Angel
well it looks like i'm finally moving home.
the books are at looooong last back: Borges, Paz, Hardy, Styron, and the moldy "Sailor on Horseback". That perfect Penguin orange. The Faulkner font. The "Macbeth" still with the blue felt pen markings: underlining the words that in their underlining saved them forever to my mind. "sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care...." The essential "It Came from the Far Side!" Robert Motherwell, thank goodness. Tillich. Even "I am a Bunny!". Not Andrea's books, but her clothes. All still heavy with good tailoring and covered in sparkly things. Such a life she had. Many many books lost with the old house,(worst: my Charlotte's Web that I remember placing on the green room shelf like I did it today). So, some things retrieved, mixed in with the previous owners NYC playbills and Mitchner novels.
"Clea" finally! - lost in 1987 with not much left to go then. I think I'll start it again (after having been alive forever, and to Alexandria even - who would have believed it?) Where are all those philosophy books that I hacked my way through once upon a time? Those I want most. I'll find them. There are always more boxes. My house feels much more a home though, though my wanderlust boils ever more the more I settle in.
Some stunning finds. Her note(s) and Prologue. My 'abridged party favor version' of her intensely dense doctoral thesis: "In the characters of ____ and ___ (buy the real thesis if you want to know who) Patrick White and William Faulkner respectively have created ..."
My few attempts at fiction writing: "Hunger" tucked into some auto insurance papers - thought I'd never find it.. One must look at EVERYthing, because you never know and treasures clearly prefer a l m o s t being tossed out with the old soaps and all the endless shuffled mildewed flotsomjetsom papers of banal quotidian life) So, at the very bottom of a box of beyond useless junk: "The Complete D.H. Lawrence" that I used to drag pretentiouslyprobably around, falling in love with loving and words. "I know no greater delight than the sheer delight of being alone./ It makes me realize the delicious pleasure of the moon/ that she has traveling by herself: throughout time/ or the splendid growing of an ash-tree alone, on a hillside in the north, humming in the wind.". --not even all that great, but I loved it then and am content that i still am so content on my own.
lovely October day. (candles before noon, peace, books, some traveling by myself throughout time, some splendid growing I can only hope. certainly some humming in the wind).
I guess i'm still here, still a bunny...
the books are at looooong last back: Borges, Paz, Hardy, Styron, and the moldy "Sailor on Horseback". That perfect Penguin orange. The Faulkner font. The "Macbeth" still with the blue felt pen markings: underlining the words that in their underlining saved them forever to my mind. "sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care...." The essential "It Came from the Far Side!" Robert Motherwell, thank goodness. Tillich. Even "I am a Bunny!". Not Andrea's books, but her clothes. All still heavy with good tailoring and covered in sparkly things. Such a life she had. Many many books lost with the old house,(worst: my Charlotte's Web that I remember placing on the green room shelf like I did it today). So, some things retrieved, mixed in with the previous owners NYC playbills and Mitchner novels.
"Clea" finally! - lost in 1987 with not much left to go then. I think I'll start it again (after having been alive forever, and to Alexandria even - who would have believed it?) Where are all those philosophy books that I hacked my way through once upon a time? Those I want most. I'll find them. There are always more boxes. My house feels much more a home though, though my wanderlust boils ever more the more I settle in.
Some stunning finds. Her note(s) and Prologue. My 'abridged party favor version' of her intensely dense doctoral thesis: "In the characters of ____ and ___ (buy the real thesis if you want to know who) Patrick White and William Faulkner respectively have created ..."
My few attempts at fiction writing: "Hunger" tucked into some auto insurance papers - thought I'd never find it.. One must look at EVERYthing, because you never know and treasures clearly prefer a l m o s t being tossed out with the old soaps and all the endless shuffled mildewed flotsomjetsom papers of banal quotidian life) So, at the very bottom of a box of beyond useless junk: "The Complete D.H. Lawrence" that I used to drag pretentiouslyprobably around, falling in love with loving and words. "I know no greater delight than the sheer delight of being alone./ It makes me realize the delicious pleasure of the moon/ that she has traveling by herself: throughout time/ or the splendid growing of an ash-tree alone, on a hillside in the north, humming in the wind.". --not even all that great, but I loved it then and am content that i still am so content on my own.
lovely October day. (candles before noon, peace, books, some traveling by myself throughout time, some splendid growing I can only hope. certainly some humming in the wind).
I guess i'm still here, still a bunny...
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