Think. Think. Think. I have no reason to say that word thrice. It’s not directed at myself or at anyone. Just a word to spit out.
I have had a beautiful couple of weeks. Strange and new in all kinds of good ways. What does it all mean? Who would say, even if an answer to that question sat idling somewhere waiting to be found.
I appear to be close to selling my car, which was always my dad’s car and never mine. A friend is taking on the financial risks for the time being — getting a range of repairs and service work done before determining that the thing is not a lemon. It is not, but as we get closer to finalizing our deal I begin to see how much it would suck if the car burns out on him after 2 months, or something like that.
I took the money I saved on the parking spot to buy over $100 in poetry books, with the first book I opened (Collected works of Rilke) being a real prize. There was a line — relatively weak for Rilke — about how there are so many more faces on earth than there are people, for individuals have so many different faces.
I got cracking on clearing up some drek on my web sites. There was probably a simpler way to do it. I find I can not even decide where to post something new because the sorabji.com hole is such an incoherent morass of un-navigable, un-connected places. Rooms. I like that, because it reflects my personality, but of late it seems to have gotten away even from me. I was roaming through all those hundreds of graveyard pictures, discovering that I never even posted a large number of them and discovering that I left in the lurch some projects that genuinely interest me and that even hadd traction. A certain monument that I researched at Calvary led to a correspondence with the Monuments Department of the city Parks Department, and that in turn led to the amusing discovery that they (NYC.gov Parks) cited me as a source in the footnotes of a paper they wrote on the condition of that monument. I laughed at the time but pretty well forgot about it until last week. It made me realize t! hat my li ttle web project could help influence whether that monument gets more funding to be fully restored.
And other similar dead ends and half-baked projects that litter this web site as nothing better than directionless ideas. I guess this uninspiring underbelly of this aforementioned un-navigable inchoate sprawl is that those dead ends and now-pulseless inspirations also reflect my personality, and hey while we’re at it why not throw my whole fucking life into the analogy.
Hah. I crack myself up. To be better grammatical: Up I crack myself.
No, I am not doing that. No life-trashing analogies tonight. Not this year.
My head feels quiet inside. Calm. The old noise is not gone, nor is it lost. I do not expect the noise to ever die.
