I’ve sat down about twenty times this past week, intent on writing something anything but then I just don’t. What is there to say? Why say it? The word meaningless comes to mind or less meaning and I think of coded language.
interesting times = we are fucked
doctors’ consideration = we don’t know
irritability (side effect) = psychotic screaming 22 out of 24 hours a day (that one’s old, pulled out of a hat = tiny little mother mind™ from 25 years ago)
patriots = white supremacists
come together = appeasement
And so forth.
You get my drift my gist the essence.
What does it mean to truly rest? I’m mulling over that these days, along with a group that is keeping me afloat. I’m not talking nap as I’ve always disliked them, hated them, and I can’t think of a single time I’ve woken from a nap in anything but a grumpy mood unless it was a post-coital nap and that’s a whole different line of thought and one, if you know me, you won’t hear here. I’m talking rest = do and think nothing. What is restful to you?
When I am not mulling rest or actively = inactively pursuing it, I am busy, thank Jesus, teaching. I love my job, love my students, love the material I get to pass along, the poetry the novels the constancy of the joy in reading words strung together. Story = life. I’m deeply deeply immersed in Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell. I read a poem today by Zbigniew Herbert called “The Envoy of Mr. Cogito” and it moved (= weep) me.
beware however of unnecessary pride
keep looking at your clown’s face in the mirror
repeat: I was called — weren’t there better ones than I
I took a shower the other morning which morning (?) and looked through the curtain a clear curtain that I’d bought one Covid morning, sold = suckered into by an influencer = capitalist huckster from the comfort of my bed where I rested = diverted myself from the usual fuckery as only a privileged person can, through water drops that were so clear, so precise, such small worlds reflected my dark hair going gray one drop, the vertical line between my eyes one drop, the crumpled belly another and down and so forth but it was what was beyond the reflection of ruin (clear) and through the drops that my eyes, profoundly near-sighted were drawn, to see, albeit blurred, the blues and greens outside my window, just in the distance, of the world. Meaning less equals meaning, full.
that poem. wow
I am immersed in Hamnet too!! Your glossary of meanings is so accurate.