Sunday, October 23, 2005
& o ...
nice convergence of berry's book and today's mass texts ... around
the question ... "who is my neighbor?" ...The answer: Your neighbor is any sufferer who
needs your help.
... and so ... the burden ... of knowing
berry's essay "The Burden of the Gospels" at the end
of his brief gospel passage gathering Blessed
are the Peacemakers
humans write and read, teach and learn, at the inevitable cost
of falling short. The language that reveals also obscures.
i'm thinking there's a certain
perversity in an inversion of that second sentence ... "the
language that obscures also reveals" ... though i've clearly
put some money down
on the likelihood that it does just that ... and the adventure's
in the seeing ... what's revealed ... in the fog ... the perversity's
in the notion that we can aim to fall short and still hit ...
something ... worth hitting ... now, gods, stand up for underachievers!
Saturday, October 22, 2005
tonight i'm a butterfly ... and it's got nothing to do with the
a long silence in my room just now ... the fan, this machine and
my fingers on it, the squeaky chair ... but it seems like a long
silence since the cd stopped ... there was shirley horn's rich
voice and swinging piano ... and then there wasn't ... which is
about as sentimental as i'm going to get over her passing ...
the disk was may the music never end
from i think 2003
... & to my untrained ears it seems just wonderful ... that one
piece ... "everything must change" ... was so irritating
the first twenty times or so ... is now just wonderful ... i buy
the gimmick ... the release ... jump up and wave my arms like
butterflies ... a split second after she mentions them ... odd
enough to earn a look from the cat
look out ... the window ... nothing much to the right ... maybe
some game ... but there's political poem to the left ... look
29 - April 2006 - Norman MacAfee: The Coming of Fascism to America
... via wood
Friday, October 21, 2005
at whiskey river
... There is nothing you can see that is
not a flower; There is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
there is nothing you can hear that is not a child;
there is nothing you can tell that is not the street ...
there is nothing you can fix that
is not a flame; there is nothing you can move that is not the
there is nothing you
can count that is not the prize; there is nothing you can bury
that is not an eye ...
is nothing you can twist that is not a saint; there is nothing
you can frame that is not a cave ...
Allan Poe, Review of Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales
...Mr. Hawthorne's distinctive
trait is Invention, creation, imagination, originality - a trait
which, in the literature of fiction, is positively worth all the
Thursday, October 20, 2005
got cool birds over at In
a Dark Time
turns out those moon pictures i thought were so great were just
blah ... some days you just get more suckiness than anything else
... even mixed in with the good stuff
so i was
up at five to drive to milwaukee for an a.p. workshop at marquette
... so my senior classes read more othello outloud and the sophomores
watch a&e poe bio ... the day was uneventful ... where i was hoping
for pleasant shocks of insight ... but it may have been my fault
from all this tired i got ... from the recent push to grade ...
from this longterm push to kill whatever bug has been jumping
round my upper respiration ... the sore throat is dwindling down
... almost dead ... it seems ... leaving me just sleepy ... looks
like half a day of school tomorrow ... for us will be bringing
in a big bunch of money ... they say
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
to tuesday ... i don't know ... i took a picture of the full moon
this morning hanging over the east ... but i'm too tired to set
it up for posting now ... maybe tomorrow ... grades are almost
Monday, October 17, 2005
from Thomas Merton
...The deep secrecy of my own
being is often hidden from me by my own estimate of what I am.
My idea of what I am is falsified by my admiration for what I
do. And my illusions about myself are bred by contagion from the
illusions of other men. We all seek to imitate one another's imagined
If I do not know
who I am, it is because I think I am the sort of person everyone
around me wants to be. Perhaps I have never asked myself whether
I really wanted to become what everybody else seems to want to
become. Perhaps if I only realized that I do not admire what everyone
seems to admire, I would really begin to live after all. I would
be liberated from the painful duty of saying what I really do
not think and of acting in a way that betrays God's truth and
the integrity of my own soul.
From No Man is an Island
by Thomas Merton
(San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers,
... one of the best
of the early merton books
t j b l
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