Reset Forty-Three, Day One
Aug. 7th, 2022 07:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSomehow Saturday turned out tiring, even though I had orange juice and tea and donuts, and had fairly decent sleep and no difficult tasks. There was just an enervating sadness hanging around, and about ten o'clock in the evening I grew so weary that I took a nap that ended up lasting four hours. Dinner had to wait until after the nap, as I'd lacked the energy to fix it earlier, and I didn't make the whole thing, but what I did fix was sufficient. I don't do much anymore, so I don't need to eat as much.
Now I've eaten one of my cupcakes for a late bedtime snack, while watching videos about the Phrygian and Dorian modes in music. Interesting stuff. I never learned to play an instrument, though I always wanted to. I suppose I could try to learn one now, as I have nothing but time on my hands, but I have no idea what one I would try. Something small, to be sure. I actually did have an instrument for a while when I was a kid— a small xylophone with twelve notes. Later I had the chance occasionally to play the few songs I'd learned to pick out on the xylophone on a vibraphone owned by a guy who moved into the neighborhood for a while, but I never really "learned" the instrument.
Shortly before leaving Los Angeles I went to an event downtown where various people had booths selling various things, and one of the booths was run by a woman who played and sold Celtic harps. I imagined buying one, though they were quite expensive, but never did. It's probably just as well, as it would have burned up in my ill-fated house. But maybe I'll look around for some small, perhaps stringed, instrument just to mess around with and fill the time. Something quiet that wouldn't be heard through the walls. It would be a good distraction on those days that end up making me sad for no apparent reason.
Sunday Verse
by Maxine Kumin
You have forty-nine days between
death and rebirth if you're a Buddhist.
Even the smallest soul could swim
the English Channel in that time
or climb, like a ten-month-old child,
every step of the Washington Monument
to travel across, up, down, over or through
—you won't know till you get there which to do.
He laid on me for a few seconds
said Roscoe Black, who lived to tell
about his skirmish with a grizzly bear
in Glacier Park. He laid on me not doing anything. I could feel his heart
beating against my heart.
Never mind lie and lay, the whole world
confuses them. For Roscoe Black you might say
all forty-nine days flew by.
I was raised on the Old Testament.
In it God talks to Moses, Noah,
Samuel, and they answer.
People confer with angels. Certain
animals converse with humans.
It's a simple world, full of crossovers.
Heaven's an airy Somewhere, and God
has a nasty temper when provoked,
but if there's a Hell, little is made of it.
No longtailed Devil, no eternal fire,
and no choosing what to come back as.
When the grizzly bear appears, he lies/lays down
on atheist and zealot. In the pitch-dark
each of us waits for him in Glacier Park.
Now I've eaten one of my cupcakes for a late bedtime snack, while watching videos about the Phrygian and Dorian modes in music. Interesting stuff. I never learned to play an instrument, though I always wanted to. I suppose I could try to learn one now, as I have nothing but time on my hands, but I have no idea what one I would try. Something small, to be sure. I actually did have an instrument for a while when I was a kid— a small xylophone with twelve notes. Later I had the chance occasionally to play the few songs I'd learned to pick out on the xylophone on a vibraphone owned by a guy who moved into the neighborhood for a while, but I never really "learned" the instrument.
Shortly before leaving Los Angeles I went to an event downtown where various people had booths selling various things, and one of the booths was run by a woman who played and sold Celtic harps. I imagined buying one, though they were quite expensive, but never did. It's probably just as well, as it would have burned up in my ill-fated house. But maybe I'll look around for some small, perhaps stringed, instrument just to mess around with and fill the time. Something quiet that wouldn't be heard through the walls. It would be a good distraction on those days that end up making me sad for no apparent reason.
Sunday Verse
In the Park
by Maxine Kumin
You have forty-nine days between
death and rebirth if you're a Buddhist.
Even the smallest soul could swim
the English Channel in that time
or climb, like a ten-month-old child,
every step of the Washington Monument
to travel across, up, down, over or through
—you won't know till you get there which to do.
He laid on me for a few seconds
said Roscoe Black, who lived to tell
about his skirmish with a grizzly bear
in Glacier Park. He laid on me not doing anything. I could feel his heart
beating against my heart.
Never mind lie and lay, the whole world
confuses them. For Roscoe Black you might say
all forty-nine days flew by.
I was raised on the Old Testament.
In it God talks to Moses, Noah,
Samuel, and they answer.
People confer with angels. Certain
animals converse with humans.
It's a simple world, full of crossovers.
Heaven's an airy Somewhere, and God
has a nasty temper when provoked,
but if there's a Hell, little is made of it.
No longtailed Devil, no eternal fire,
and no choosing what to come back as.
When the grizzly bear appears, he lies/lays down
on atheist and zealot. In the pitch-dark
each of us waits for him in Glacier Park.
