Almost kind of an update.
(Kind of, in that I'm not really going to say anything of substance.)
Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God.
- James Joyce, "Telemachus," Ulysses
The above encapsulates my take on the satisfaction of writing something good, though I know Joyce's intent was to describe the Word and not merely the (secular, written) word.
I fell gloriously on the walk home from Fish Rap tonight. I was skipping about and rambling on about Bea Arthur and The Tempest when I neglected to see the sidewalk had turned into a curb and I landed half-on and half-off of it. Still, it was an artful fall, limbs akimbo and a great, flowy dress catching the breeze just so as I tumbled soundlessly to asphalt beneath the brilliant indigo of a newly-darkened sky.
But, of course, after walking nearly a mile home, it hurts like a motherfucker and my ankle looks as though it has swallowed an orange. There is now a baggie of frozen corn resting atop it to ease the swell. I'd take a photo if it wasn't so grotesque.
And, oh, I wonder what it says about the world when even Arlen Specter seems to be getting it right.
Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God.
- James Joyce, "Telemachus," Ulysses
The above encapsulates my take on the satisfaction of writing something good, though I know Joyce's intent was to describe the Word and not merely the (secular, written) word.
I fell gloriously on the walk home from Fish Rap tonight. I was skipping about and rambling on about Bea Arthur and The Tempest when I neglected to see the sidewalk had turned into a curb and I landed half-on and half-off of it. Still, it was an artful fall, limbs akimbo and a great, flowy dress catching the breeze just so as I tumbled soundlessly to asphalt beneath the brilliant indigo of a newly-darkened sky.
But, of course, after walking nearly a mile home, it hurts like a motherfucker and my ankle looks as though it has swallowed an orange. There is now a baggie of frozen corn resting atop it to ease the swell. I'd take a photo if it wasn't so grotesque.
And, oh, I wonder what it says about the world when even Arlen Specter seems to be getting it right.