The year ends and begins I want to say in the same (and already not exactly the same place). And or with the faces of Janus and with a sense of dread if I’m honest as if already I’ve given it all over to the forces at play. As if the forces of recalibration, the equal and opposite aren’t built in. As if I’ve forgotten the push and pull of breathing. And underway now, the dread eases, on the way facing forward a wind at my back.
Buoyed in part by finishing in good measure what I’d started:
5 books in a series begun two years ago, exploring the vagaries, the moods and nuances of SELF: Who am I. What do I want. How do I know.
(Footing; self; name; place; hole in the grid).
And the projects along the way which include a few indices and lexicons yet to be pulled together
And in part by a sense of next year’s work, the personal and public aspects, personal and public responsibilities, overlapping. The keen understanding of the need to protect our language, our vocabulary, our how do we know from the insidious force of not knowing rather than the ebb and flow, equal and opposite forces of unknowing already built in to how we come to know.
So under the rubric of syntactical drift, and the play of snigow (otherwise intended to have been mobius (<–you see the upside down and backwards of it, yes?) and working with lists of words already in play and words not yet brought into play I will go forward in mirth and good cheer, with hope, and my pollyanna in pigtails and ribbons on the one hand &, nasty pussy full of hiss and vinegar claws at the ready on the other.
Yes and all that said, in truth, I go forward with hope and equanimity in equal measure to my horror and fear.
And by all I hold sacred as I’ve said at least once before, if I’m going down I’m going down standing up, by Art! And yakking my head off.
On the mark. At the line. Pussy and Polly, Pussies and Pollys ho!