a pretty bad (i.e painful) upper respiratory infection ... so
on a day when i should have been laying around sick-like ... i
wasn't ... i was to mass ... and then i was to the acute care
place for whatever acute care they might give ... and then to
the big nearby target store for the prescription and otc stuff
... i got the zithromax z-pak ... i got the coricidin hbp ...
i got the mucinex dm and the chloroseptic and the halls lozenges
... i got the good cheap hand sanitizer ... then i got the cat
food ... but my throat still hurts real bad ... i want my mommy
that was the morning ...
the afternoon was a trip to o'hare to collect bob back from germany
... but by then the coricidin had kicked in & i was feeling kind
of woozy kind of drowsy ... so i asked dom to come along and keep
me awake & on the road & he did ... back home i crashed for two
hours then had some soup & a look at the second show of the current
west wing season ... manic campaign stuff ... now here & ...
now off to early bed for whatever monday brings ... chapter 12
(at last!) of invisible man ... and a handful of romantic poems
(the firesides) ... but what to do with them ... what to do (without
much a voice)
we'll see ...
morning to fetch a new remote for the tv ... all this past week
we've been kneeling before the great god to move from one stinking
station to the next ... now we're back in the 21st century ...
but the volume control doesn't work ... blow up yr tv
also went in search of medicine for a minor bit of congestion
that's settled painfully in my throat stolen my voice and handed
me a nice little cough .... found said medicine but have no faith
in it ... in a few minutes i'm off to supervise our homecoming
dance until 11 ... sad for the broke-wing dove outside our dining
room window who smashed heavily into the glass and dropped ...
and now huddles pathetically there in the grass waiting for the
stupid me ... last may at a nudge from nick
i submitted a quick pome (of the found variety) to
... and heard
nothing back ... and forgot about it ...
then tonight i find a note from the publisher wondering
if i still want in on the project ... seems mr. beckett sent me
an acceptance way back in may (feels like a thousand years off)
which i never got ... or ... more likely ... dumped with the spam
... so i quickly tossed together what was required ... fair copy,
bio, and photo (yikes) ... & i guess we'll see what comes of it
with a number of odd elements ... return from retreat ... weird
spirit week pressures ... unsettling dreams of students and cats
... the knee the back the eyes ... all unresolved ... end of first
quarter on the horizon ... other things ... and so coming into
class each day ready to blast away at material that students have
not read ... or that some students have read and others have not
... is very disorienting ... makes me an unwilling surrealist
who puts a foot down and it disappears
the Kafkan world, the file takes on the role of a Platonic idea.
It represents true reality, whereas man's physical existence is
only a shadow cast on the screen of illusion. Indeed, both the
Land-Surveyor K. and the prague engineer are but the shadows of
their file cards; and they are even much less than that: they
are the shadows of a
mistake in the file, shadows without
even the right to exist as shadows.
... milan kundera ...
from "Somewhere Beyond" in The Art of the Novel
... by jordan stempleman ... seems just right ... dream thought
language ... an opening full of correct steps ... what has been
set out in light ... i'm stretching for a way to say what this
poem does ... to my brain ... but that seems really stupid now
... just read the poem ... in which "getting it" is
not the point ... but "letting it" just might be ...
typical of many of jordan's wonderful small structures ...