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let feelings through after all and
the mindful aesthetic shrinks, words like
mother, father, even you are so big
all the words around them must be small,
forget love, don't even consider names
of seasons, times of day, qualities of light,
for to say almost anything with those is to say
so too much
as to mean nearly nothing,
compared to what's said by the nameless
It makes me want to collect poems about what isn't said, can't be said, refuses articulation.
It's the day after the weekend of our spring chorus performances. I'm tired. It was quite a ride. Among other flurries, the flurry of prep and the heightened-sense thing of "Showtime!"s leaves one afterwards in a sort of daze, stunned to be in what seems a sudden emptiness (lack, minus) of that biz.
Show biz, I guess, is what biz that biz is. But not the kind in which you make money. The busy + ness kind of business of show.
Lorne's left town (book fair weekend) without me seeing his face. Says he and LA will be coming through in a month. I pause to see what I feel about that, and don't pick up much. [ --- Hey, that means it's also that day. The Monday after. Wow. I interrupt with this oh-hey upon reading over these lines, and shall go back into the prime powers mentioned below under the influence of it. ]
Was thinking walking into the office this morn, though, of my current knee troubles making it hurt (these past few days) to take long steps with the other leg, cuzza something that happens when the compromised knee then has to do some certain angle to bring that leg forward from behind me. An incident involving that difficulty and a friend's performative-looking impatience this weekend brought up some decades-old pain, from being a teenager, recovering from ankle surgery, and experiencing something similar enough as to be close to the same, in some internal/emotional way. I didn't get the connection right away, but I got it eventually. The incident itself pissed me off, and was a case of somebody being a jerk, but I think it took it having extra sting for me even to realize that much. Even to notice that it wasn't okay. And even that may not have happened had I not already been in a vulnerable place for other reasons.
Back now to, let's see, a theorem of Prachar involving prime powers.
the mindful aesthetic shrinks, words like
mother, father, even you are so big
all the words around them must be small,
forget love, don't even consider names
of seasons, times of day, qualities of light,
for to say almost anything with those is to say
so too much
as to mean nearly nothing,
compared to what's said by the nameless
It makes me want to collect poems about what isn't said, can't be said, refuses articulation.
It's the day after the weekend of our spring chorus performances. I'm tired. It was quite a ride. Among other flurries, the flurry of prep and the heightened-sense thing of "Showtime!"s leaves one afterwards in a sort of daze, stunned to be in what seems a sudden emptiness (lack, minus) of that biz.
Show biz, I guess, is what biz that biz is. But not the kind in which you make money. The busy + ness kind of business of show.
Lorne's left town (book fair weekend) without me seeing his face. Says he and LA will be coming through in a month. I pause to see what I feel about that, and don't pick up much. [ --- Hey, that means it's also that day. The Monday after. Wow. I interrupt with this oh-hey upon reading over these lines, and shall go back into the prime powers mentioned below under the influence of it. ]
Was thinking walking into the office this morn, though, of my current knee troubles making it hurt (these past few days) to take long steps with the other leg, cuzza something that happens when the compromised knee then has to do some certain angle to bring that leg forward from behind me. An incident involving that difficulty and a friend's performative-looking impatience this weekend brought up some decades-old pain, from being a teenager, recovering from ankle surgery, and experiencing something similar enough as to be close to the same, in some internal/emotional way. I didn't get the connection right away, but I got it eventually. The incident itself pissed me off, and was a case of somebody being a jerk, but I think it took it having extra sting for me even to realize that much. Even to notice that it wasn't okay. And even that may not have happened had I not already been in a vulnerable place for other reasons.
Back now to, let's see, a theorem of Prachar involving prime powers.
