51/38: Undone
Oct. 20th, 2024 08:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSaturday I got my October utility bill, and as I'd hoped it was entirely covered by my bi-annual California Climate Credit. In fact my bill was only a bit over thirty-five bucks, and the credit being over fifty-five I've still got almost twenty bucks toward my November bill. November is the month the furnace starts running, and that can run the bill up pretty fast, so it will be nice to have that bit extra covering part of it.
As has been usual recently I did a whole lot of sleeping Saturday, and didn't fix Friday's dinner for Saturday breakfast after all. It had to wait until late in the evening, and them I went back to bed soon after eating. Since waking again in the early morning darkness I have tried to organize some sort of thoughts, but it doesn't seem to be working out. I'm thinking about making more food, or at least taking something to eat out of a package, but even the thought required for such simple tasks flees like the nocturnal shadows escaping dawn's harsh glare. I am exposed, and must conceal myself in the oblivion of sleep once more! How will I ever get anything done again? Maybe I won't, whatever my wont.
Did I hear a door slam? Is there a draft in here? Is this only a draft? Oh, Undone!
Sunday Verse
by Gerald Stern
I remember Galileo describing the mind
as a piece of paper blown around by the wind,
and I loved the sight of it sticking to a tree,
or jumping into the backseat of a car,
and for years I watched paper leap through my cities;
but yesterday I saw the mind was a squirrel caught crossing
Route 80 between the wheels of a giant truck,
dancing back and forth like a thin leaf,
or a frightened string, for only two seconds living
on the white concrete before he got away,
his life shortened by all that terror, his head
jerking, his yellow teeth ground down to dust.
It was the speed of the squirrel and his lowness to the ground,
his great purpose and the alertness of his dancing,
that showed me the difference between him and paper.
Paper will do in theory, when there is time
to sit back in a metal chair and study shadows;
but for this life I need a squirrel,
his clawed feet spread, his whole soul quivering,
the loud noise shaking him from head to tail.
O philosophical mind, O mind of paper, I need a squirrel
finishing his wild dash across the highway,
rushing up his green ungoverned hillside.
As has been usual recently I did a whole lot of sleeping Saturday, and didn't fix Friday's dinner for Saturday breakfast after all. It had to wait until late in the evening, and them I went back to bed soon after eating. Since waking again in the early morning darkness I have tried to organize some sort of thoughts, but it doesn't seem to be working out. I'm thinking about making more food, or at least taking something to eat out of a package, but even the thought required for such simple tasks flees like the nocturnal shadows escaping dawn's harsh glare. I am exposed, and must conceal myself in the oblivion of sleep once more! How will I ever get anything done again? Maybe I won't, whatever my wont.
Did I hear a door slam? Is there a draft in here? Is this only a draft? Oh, Undone!
Sunday Verse
I Remember Galileo
by Gerald Stern
I remember Galileo describing the mind
as a piece of paper blown around by the wind,
and I loved the sight of it sticking to a tree,
or jumping into the backseat of a car,
and for years I watched paper leap through my cities;
but yesterday I saw the mind was a squirrel caught crossing
Route 80 between the wheels of a giant truck,
dancing back and forth like a thin leaf,
or a frightened string, for only two seconds living
on the white concrete before he got away,
his life shortened by all that terror, his head
jerking, his yellow teeth ground down to dust.
It was the speed of the squirrel and his lowness to the ground,
his great purpose and the alertness of his dancing,
that showed me the difference between him and paper.
Paper will do in theory, when there is time
to sit back in a metal chair and study shadows;
but for this life I need a squirrel,
his clawed feet spread, his whole soul quivering,
the loud noise shaking him from head to tail.
O philosophical mind, O mind of paper, I need a squirrel
finishing his wild dash across the highway,
rushing up his green ungoverned hillside.
