March 17, 2012 § 1 Comment
an excerpt from now and then:
My mother too is docent. Keeper of the records in our museum, she balances the books again and again one last time. She’s been able, as is her undertaking, to pull the extraordinary from the mire, and what was once such an onerous task, pleases her now. Out of breath, from running up the stairs to the phone, she calls me, to tell me the news from old clippings. “When you live with things day to day,” she says, “the extraordinary and the ordinary merge. It was hard to see,” she says, “how truly great were the things that people did.”
Story tellers ourselves, we’d come to hear for the last time the stories told again and again.
read the whole thing here
March 5, 2012 § 2 Comments
so as these things go, I finally decided on my four pages; have typeset and actually formed up three already; am midway through the last one, and even ordered them, important since the margins for verso and recto will be different;
and proofed but not yet ready to print they are—as has always been the case I don’t know why I’m so surprised—not having any part of just lying there…especially in the middle of the night where not only the order of the pages changes but so does the layout of each one, yup it’s part of the pr-oh-cess, mine in particular, not so much indecision as the appreciation of a certain fluidity (hmm) that defines, operationalizes it ain’t done till the fat lady sings, and even then you never know how long she’s gonna sing
important not to improperly name, and therefore succumb to the attendant feelings which feel like anxiety or fear or ambivalence, or like you don’t know what you are doing, it’s none of those, it’s just the throes, yes that’s exactly what it is, the throes…
oh for gob’s sake!
b-c-d-e is the way it goes i-s-f-g while I’m at it but the point is b-c-d-e, not that complicated really
and an interesting reminder of body memory—my hands knew the case before I did, still do—my hands, especially if I’m distracted know right where to go to find just the right letter, so as my father might have said, it was an erroneously carried out action and the imps and inklings certainly would second that, suggesting Gob and not God was just the word I was looking for