in which witness is borne: birds, politics, fiction and critical art theory


Thursday, July 28, 2005
i packed the binoculars today—last in a box that was full of shoes and photographs—we worked sluggish with fatigue, flopping on the mattress, listening to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, dreaming of the future
when will i be out in the field again?
it’s a myth by the way that all cat’s tongues are rough
our shoes are all worn completely out. my newest pair got a hole in the heel today and i had to sit down in the parking lot at the bank on a slab of concrete and loosen the laces. people pushed their kids in strollers past me on the sidewalk.
oh yeah, and my plants both died while i wasn’t looking, which i guess was a long time. not looking has caused me a lot of problems lately—i almost lost a toe on the train when the doors opened and caught my flip-flopped foot in the hinges. Anyway, time to start looking again. Seriously.
you want to know what i’m writing, and i say i don’t know. Good.
we play a little game in this process of moving. it’s called, what will get thrown away? will it be the red kids’ table, vaguely useful but now merely taking up space? or perhaps the bear-brown shaggy blanket weighing 200 pounds that has sat in the hallway all year? or will we successfully discard the wheelie stereo and broken speakers, whose only redeeming feature is its occasionally functional turntable? our only mode of resolving this question seems to be exchanging a mutually hostile glare from time to time.
i meditated on the train, too—part of my ongoing campaign to shove my imagination aside long enough to look hard at what is. and to learn about dying a little, about where breathing ends and begins again. when i managed this, briefly, today, i was rewarded with a glimpse of a friend exitiing the same train, walking with head down on the platform, a person i would not have seen or recognized without clearing my mind first. tra la la.
9:34 PM :: ::
  • The red kid's table. That wouldn't be the one from my childhood lilac bush playhouse, would it? Also, nothing makes me miss riding public transportation more than reading your blog. Ride on, sister. Ride on.

    --from tdog

    By Blogger mar-mar, at 11:40 AM  
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