A room of one’s own
I wanted to walk into a room where I did not have a headache.
Wanted to go somewhere where my headache forgot itself.
One week on the antibiotics and no improvements. But I am determined to finish a two week course and though I have many side effects I have been so relieved to not break out in hives or have anaphylaxis that I think I can make it through the next week.
Ok, you can see that with my current long windedness I am not best suited to the form of the blog but better to some lengthier breezier enterprise. Perhaps a novel. Perhaps loose pages I write on and then burn.
Now that I wish to spend my time primarily with solitude, with animals and birds, with trees and flowers, with books, I may to appear to have developed a latent form of autism.
It is rather like my childhood in the woods actually.
But the modern world is so noisy to me. And I treasure the animals because humans seem so preoccupied with things I don’t understand, like getting new and bigger plastic gadgets as often as possible.
And even though Goodness, (the giant cat who appeared here this month and hangs out politely on our doorstep), this week punched both my mate and I in the hand with his big hooked paw, and made us each bleed (Two years of messing about with feral cats with not a bite or scratch, and this week is the first time either of us has shed blood) I can forgive Goodness for that just being his nature. Whereas it is harder for me to understand the “nature” of humans. They seem so much more destructive. (We forgive Goodness though we now sometimes also call him “Jerk Face” and “Mohammed Ow-ee” or “the Boxer.”)
People, you are not that interesting. (I am not talking about you my friends. I am talking about all these people on their cell phones in public. The ones dominating the air space and eating up the silence, the ones holding up the check-out line, the people who are so rude to the hardworking people serving them, the ones driving at me in their Escalades with their ears pressed to their plastic phones.)
What if for one day everyone’s cell phones turned into toys? Like the plastic phones of our childhood playrooms. Actually, some of those were even made of wood! What if for a day everyone’s phones turned to wood! The opposite of Pinocchio becoming a real boy!
I quote to you from my beloved e e cummings. “you and I are not snobs.”
“you and I are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We are human beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of growing:which happens only and whenever we are faithful to ourselves. You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming. Life,for eternal us,is now,and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included.
Life,for mostpeople,simply isn't. Take the socalled standardofliving. What do mostpeople mean by "living"? They don't mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom,has succeeded in selling their wives. If science could fail,a mountain's a mammal. Mostpeople's wives could spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omnipotence immediately and will accept no substitutes.
…
Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: they are somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn,a human being
…
Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question”
I wanted to walk into a room where I did not have a headache.
Wanted to go somewhere where my headache forgot itself.
One week on the antibiotics and no improvements. But I am determined to finish a two week course and though I have many side effects I have been so relieved to not break out in hives or have anaphylaxis that I think I can make it through the next week.
Ok, you can see that with my current long windedness I am not best suited to the form of the blog but better to some lengthier breezier enterprise. Perhaps a novel. Perhaps loose pages I write on and then burn.
Now that I wish to spend my time primarily with solitude, with animals and birds, with trees and flowers, with books, I may to appear to have developed a latent form of autism.
It is rather like my childhood in the woods actually.
But the modern world is so noisy to me. And I treasure the animals because humans seem so preoccupied with things I don’t understand, like getting new and bigger plastic gadgets as often as possible.
And even though Goodness, (the giant cat who appeared here this month and hangs out politely on our doorstep), this week punched both my mate and I in the hand with his big hooked paw, and made us each bleed (Two years of messing about with feral cats with not a bite or scratch, and this week is the first time either of us has shed blood) I can forgive Goodness for that just being his nature. Whereas it is harder for me to understand the “nature” of humans. They seem so much more destructive. (We forgive Goodness though we now sometimes also call him “Jerk Face” and “Mohammed Ow-ee” or “the Boxer.”)
People, you are not that interesting. (I am not talking about you my friends. I am talking about all these people on their cell phones in public. The ones dominating the air space and eating up the silence, the ones holding up the check-out line, the people who are so rude to the hardworking people serving them, the ones driving at me in their Escalades with their ears pressed to their plastic phones.)
What if for one day everyone’s cell phones turned into toys? Like the plastic phones of our childhood playrooms. Actually, some of those were even made of wood! What if for a day everyone’s phones turned to wood! The opposite of Pinocchio becoming a real boy!
I quote to you from my beloved e e cummings. “you and I are not snobs.”
“you and I are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We are human beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of growing:which happens only and whenever we are faithful to ourselves. You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming. Life,for eternal us,is now,and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included.
Life,for mostpeople,simply isn't. Take the socalled standardofliving. What do mostpeople mean by "living"? They don't mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom,has succeeded in selling their wives. If science could fail,a mountain's a mammal. Mostpeople's wives could spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omnipotence immediately and will accept no substitutes.
…
Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: they are somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn,a human being
…
Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question”
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