S.... Orbs Floral
S.... Orbs Floral
Rose pink balls, frilled, on the rhody outside the window.
The attractive couple who practice ASL ignore the wildly crawling brownhaired baby, and the baby ignores them in return, but beams when Mom or Dad comes to lift him up. I watch them all with equal fascination.
I like the symbolic gestures best...or is that (flip flip) redundant?
I started to write "spheres" up there for a title but the sf sound lacks sforza.
Ooh, how the small folk express displeasure with their whole bodies. Something we adults never get to do. Well, hardly ever. Would it do, to get it out? I run instead. Or maybe there's a dance there—primitive indeed. No, savages are not children. But children are savages.
I'm reading about DH Lawrence. Apparently there is no price too excess to pay for genius. That is, if you're too good, nothing bad is bad enough, much less too bad. Sauvage.
I saw Jack in Volunteer Park last night. "Jackie," I yelled. "You can't hide." He must be 6'6". He gave me a hug. He has an earring through his auricular cartilage (otic).
What do people who can draw wish? That they could sing? That they could lose weight? Pay their bills!
BM Starbucks 5/9/01
I Wish
The phrase was buoyant (or at least puffed up) with meaning when I wrote it—“I wish"—last Wednesday, and now...maybe something about human uniqueness? We are the only creatures that daydream. Or are we?
I wish I didn't have to ever go back to the vile, mind-numbing, neck-cricking job. Or—to go in Monday to tell them goodbye & get my shoes. Ugly shoes that they are, I could just leave them. My cup then.
The job: Where the only entertainment is to wait for the next annoying remark from Jane.
What we wish: clarity & expansion, instead of murk & constriction. My neck/throat is feeling weird again & I'm having hot flashes. Maybe, I tell myself, maybe I'll die. Esp. it seems likely at night, in bed. And I half wish it—why not? Painless, please. Unlabored. Yes, maybe, but maybe I'll get what I get. Once I'm up & around I don't mind being alive. It's rather attractive, in fact, when the sun comes out & I wish I could draw it. Not the sun, the beauty, the lovely Isness of it all.
There's my wish. To draw, to sing, to lose weight, to sign, to go to Paris, to amuse, to be amused.
And to have some really nice clothes. That's all.
BM Starb 5/12/01
Tox i City
Lee leaves me to go talk to John. I've met J. before but don't remember because of the glasses (his) or hormonal toxicity (mine). C. G. goes out & I give her a big toothy smile & she smiles surprise back. "Oh, you do that well," Lee says. "She really is a bitch," he adds. I don't get the joke about Sizzler, but at his insistence, I write it down.
Better his life than mine—since mine is dingy apartment & needles in my shoulder blades.
Someone is getting married & John is doing the flowers.
I'm going to call the Clinic again for HRT, as I believe that might sweeten my disposition. Personalities—well, there they are, what do you do with them?
Looking out the door at the gum-chewing boy in camouflage pants listening to his Walkman—the impression he gives is of being very stupid. And beyond him the hilltop market, streetlights, cars, a skyline of downtown highrises. I remember the view from my 1985 window on Mercer—recall that Tomas lived there too. And have a pang to go with my needles.
BM Starbucks 5/12/01
Spring Light
By the middle of May the silver light falls gently down like the quality of mercy—unstrained.
No, I mean it sifts like mist, only dry.
I just had a hate-encounter with a short swarthy IT guy fucking with the computer at the Henry Library. Oh, was he rude. I wanted to smack him upside the head with an unabridged dictionary.
What is worse I have a sore throat & it hurts much much when I swallow. Also my Eustachian tubes hurt whenever I think about them.
Life falls all over itself with annoyance. I think it was the 6th billion person. I don't have dealings with many, but even the few I do—all of them piss me off. CD Clinic won't prescribe HRT unless I come in (& pay for the visit, of course). Be damned. So I'm getting J's extra—her doctor nags her to take it until she does, but only the month before her next appointment. (HRT is his religion.)
Tonight I want a piano & to feel better & to finish my novel.
Bway Starbs 6/15/01
Cos Cob — Heart's Desire
I was at Harvey W's in Auburn. We were getting married, Harvey & I. He looked just like he did in 1963, not a bit different. Wasn't I pleased? Auburn was a village with charming Victorian cottages. Harvey had gone out (he was in sales I think), but a bunch of his friends had come over & they were all intelligent & cultured. After the wedding we were moving to Cos Cob & I was going to write & edit a newspaper. I was going to be acclaimed for it.
God, I was happy.
The next night I dreamed that Ginny Anderson & I were palling around like girlfriends—& there were lots of cats.
Since one very bad night—coughing & pained in the shoulder & throat—I've slept pretty well. Though I have a touch of cold or hay fever, I don't feel too bad. But you know, I want to write. I also want to get away.
My rent will be raised as of 7/1 to $710 a month. So is now not a good time to go? Indeed it tis. At the end of the month, after I've paid rent, I'll have $950 — or about $700 if I buy a pistol.
Where should I go?
Looks like rain.
BM Starbucks 5/19/01
Rose pink balls, frilled, on the rhody outside the window.
The attractive couple who practice ASL ignore the wildly crawling brownhaired baby, and the baby ignores them in return, but beams when Mom or Dad comes to lift him up. I watch them all with equal fascination.
I like the symbolic gestures best...or is that (flip flip) redundant?
I started to write "spheres" up there for a title but the sf sound lacks sforza.
Ooh, how the small folk express displeasure with their whole bodies. Something we adults never get to do. Well, hardly ever. Would it do, to get it out? I run instead. Or maybe there's a dance there—primitive indeed. No, savages are not children. But children are savages.
I'm reading about DH Lawrence. Apparently there is no price too excess to pay for genius. That is, if you're too good, nothing bad is bad enough, much less too bad. Sauvage.
I saw Jack in Volunteer Park last night. "Jackie," I yelled. "You can't hide." He must be 6'6". He gave me a hug. He has an earring through his auricular cartilage (otic).
What do people who can draw wish? That they could sing? That they could lose weight? Pay their bills!
BM Starbucks 5/9/01
I Wish
The phrase was buoyant (or at least puffed up) with meaning when I wrote it—“I wish"—last Wednesday, and now...maybe something about human uniqueness? We are the only creatures that daydream. Or are we?
I wish I didn't have to ever go back to the vile, mind-numbing, neck-cricking job. Or—to go in Monday to tell them goodbye & get my shoes. Ugly shoes that they are, I could just leave them. My cup then.
The job: Where the only entertainment is to wait for the next annoying remark from Jane.
What we wish: clarity & expansion, instead of murk & constriction. My neck/throat is feeling weird again & I'm having hot flashes. Maybe, I tell myself, maybe I'll die. Esp. it seems likely at night, in bed. And I half wish it—why not? Painless, please. Unlabored. Yes, maybe, but maybe I'll get what I get. Once I'm up & around I don't mind being alive. It's rather attractive, in fact, when the sun comes out & I wish I could draw it. Not the sun, the beauty, the lovely Isness of it all.
There's my wish. To draw, to sing, to lose weight, to sign, to go to Paris, to amuse, to be amused.
And to have some really nice clothes. That's all.
BM Starb 5/12/01
Tox i City
Lee leaves me to go talk to John. I've met J. before but don't remember because of the glasses (his) or hormonal toxicity (mine). C. G. goes out & I give her a big toothy smile & she smiles surprise back. "Oh, you do that well," Lee says. "She really is a bitch," he adds. I don't get the joke about Sizzler, but at his insistence, I write it down.
Better his life than mine—since mine is dingy apartment & needles in my shoulder blades.
Someone is getting married & John is doing the flowers.
I'm going to call the Clinic again for HRT, as I believe that might sweeten my disposition. Personalities—well, there they are, what do you do with them?
Looking out the door at the gum-chewing boy in camouflage pants listening to his Walkman—the impression he gives is of being very stupid. And beyond him the hilltop market, streetlights, cars, a skyline of downtown highrises. I remember the view from my 1985 window on Mercer—recall that Tomas lived there too. And have a pang to go with my needles.
BM Starbucks 5/12/01
Spring Light
By the middle of May the silver light falls gently down like the quality of mercy—unstrained.
No, I mean it sifts like mist, only dry.
I just had a hate-encounter with a short swarthy IT guy fucking with the computer at the Henry Library. Oh, was he rude. I wanted to smack him upside the head with an unabridged dictionary.
What is worse I have a sore throat & it hurts much much when I swallow. Also my Eustachian tubes hurt whenever I think about them.
Life falls all over itself with annoyance. I think it was the 6th billion person. I don't have dealings with many, but even the few I do—all of them piss me off. CD Clinic won't prescribe HRT unless I come in (& pay for the visit, of course). Be damned. So I'm getting J's extra—her doctor nags her to take it until she does, but only the month before her next appointment. (HRT is his religion.)
Tonight I want a piano & to feel better & to finish my novel.
Bway Starbs 6/15/01
Cos Cob — Heart's Desire
I was at Harvey W's in Auburn. We were getting married, Harvey & I. He looked just like he did in 1963, not a bit different. Wasn't I pleased? Auburn was a village with charming Victorian cottages. Harvey had gone out (he was in sales I think), but a bunch of his friends had come over & they were all intelligent & cultured. After the wedding we were moving to Cos Cob & I was going to write & edit a newspaper. I was going to be acclaimed for it.
God, I was happy.
The next night I dreamed that Ginny Anderson & I were palling around like girlfriends—& there were lots of cats.
Since one very bad night—coughing & pained in the shoulder & throat—I've slept pretty well. Though I have a touch of cold or hay fever, I don't feel too bad. But you know, I want to write. I also want to get away.
My rent will be raised as of 7/1 to $710 a month. So is now not a good time to go? Indeed it tis. At the end of the month, after I've paid rent, I'll have $950 — or about $700 if I buy a pistol.
Where should I go?
Looks like rain.
BM Starbucks 5/19/01
posted by K. E. Ellingson at 4:04 PM
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