Wednesday, January 16, 2019

AT OUR LEFT THE ELF (Random Notes, #1)




Random Notes #1

Item: The plumbers were here and gone in under ten minutes. The leak isn’t fixed but the problem is diagnosed. And, of course, it is never an easy fix if you are always scrambling for money. For the moment, the bucket under the sink will work until I can look for the paperwork for the original faucet which was installed not all that long ago.

The sweet plumbers, recommended by friends, were an old school father-son team, exuding a great vibe. You don’t see too many of them around anymore. Also, they are hard-core Democrats. 

So the kitchen dishes are done, breakfast has been eaten, and I can get on with my day.

Item: Posting felt so good, I decided to write a bit more today. (Bed got made, too.)

Item: I may have mentioned this in previous posts, but when I was a child I was very worried about volcanoes and the fall of the Roman Empire, not to mention the Great Depression which positively scared me. I suppose it is a good thing that I didn't hear about the French Revolution until later. 

We are headed for violence and mayhem. Spiritually, psychologically, morally, we are buffered and battered every day by senselessness, evil, and corruption. Weariness has set in. 

Maybe I am getting brain dead, but I get so confused. I had to read this article about sanctions being lifted against Deripaska three times. Was it bad writing? Seems to be weirdly focussed on partisan politics which made the actual information difficult to discern. Or maybe I read it too fast.

A clear path is not currently clear.

Item: And then there is this nuttiness about Gillette razors. And that human-sized maggot who murdered two people so that he could abduct and abuse their daughter. Some folks just aren't going to get it. 

My fury exhausts me.

It is getting late and little has been accomplished other than some writing and a lot of non-productive skittering around the internet, half-reading.

THE TEST WE SET OURSELF

An honest work generates its own power; a dishonest work
tries to rob power from the cataracts of the given.
— Annie Dillard

If we could be less human,
if we could stand out of the range
of the cataracts of the given,
and not find our pockets swollen
with change we haven't—but must have—
stolen, who wouldn't?
It isn't a gift; we are beholden
to the sources we crib—
always something's overflow.
or someone's rib hidden in our breast;
the answer sewn inside us
that invalidates the test we set ourself
against the boneless angel at our right
and at our left the elf.

— Kay Boyle, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010




Rosemary Blossom Creme Brûlée.





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