(no subject)
I went to a bindery today. Actually I went to an enormous warehouse that has many binderies and small presses and sculptors and crafters (craftors? crafters swinging from the rafters throwing hunks of mod podge and papier-mâché?) and furniture makers, but I visited three book binderies in said warehouse.
I have little concrete to say and not enough time to even say that much - and a bud of a headache low in the back of my skull - so I will mention only this:
It is with bemusement that I notice myself maintaining the illusion that artists and writers who I admire and whose professions I would be keen on adopting can tell my worth by a look in the eye. I still believe that I can express my longing that directly, that clearly, with a well-phrased question and strong eye contact and a warm smile. I still cling to the idea that I can stream out my passion like those hot invisible hands of Matilda through the eyeballs (remember that?), and that it can be recieved loud and clear, and that by the nature of a look and a smile I can trigger someone into thinking, "Yes! Apprenticeship! I can tell just by a glance you're my girl."
I have been fascinated with eye contact since my freshman year of highschool, reading Ferlinghetti's Constantly Risking Absurdity -- the poet like an acrobat/ climbs on rime/ to a high wire of his own making/ and balancing on eyebeams/ above a sea of faces/ paces his way/ to the other side of the day/ performing entrachats/ and sleight-of-foot tricks/ and other high theatrics/ and all without mistaking/ any thing -- this was the first poem that ever hit me in the thickest, rightest way, and the first poem I ever touched on multiple levels, and the first poem I ever received 'acclaim' for knowing and understanding (assigned to write a critical response to it, I tapped out a raucous model of the poem that explained its function and mimicked it, and it went sailing around the English department with high praise - at fourteen this felt like queenly treatment; now it's embarrassing). I feel that Ferlinghetti and this poem in particular have thus colored my sense of poetic direction and my feel for poetry. Constantly Risking Absurdity, indeed.
Bemusement & bemusement & bemusement. Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.
Well it worked on my Chair, anyway. Maybe it could work on the Garage Annex School.
_____
oh &: i just pulled out 3 eyelashes - anyone up for a wish?
I have little concrete to say and not enough time to even say that much - and a bud of a headache low in the back of my skull - so I will mention only this:
It is with bemusement that I notice myself maintaining the illusion that artists and writers who I admire and whose professions I would be keen on adopting can tell my worth by a look in the eye. I still believe that I can express my longing that directly, that clearly, with a well-phrased question and strong eye contact and a warm smile. I still cling to the idea that I can stream out my passion like those hot invisible hands of Matilda through the eyeballs (remember that?), and that it can be recieved loud and clear, and that by the nature of a look and a smile I can trigger someone into thinking, "Yes! Apprenticeship! I can tell just by a glance you're my girl."
I have been fascinated with eye contact since my freshman year of highschool, reading Ferlinghetti's Constantly Risking Absurdity -- the poet like an acrobat/ climbs on rime/ to a high wire of his own making/ and balancing on eyebeams/ above a sea of faces/ paces his way/ to the other side of the day/ performing entrachats/ and sleight-of-foot tricks/ and other high theatrics/ and all without mistaking/ any thing -- this was the first poem that ever hit me in the thickest, rightest way, and the first poem I ever touched on multiple levels, and the first poem I ever received 'acclaim' for knowing and understanding (assigned to write a critical response to it, I tapped out a raucous model of the poem that explained its function and mimicked it, and it went sailing around the English department with high praise - at fourteen this felt like queenly treatment; now it's embarrassing). I feel that Ferlinghetti and this poem in particular have thus colored my sense of poetic direction and my feel for poetry. Constantly Risking Absurdity, indeed.
Bemusement & bemusement & bemusement. Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.
Well it worked on my Chair, anyway. Maybe it could work on the Garage Annex School.
_____
oh &: i just pulled out 3 eyelashes - anyone up for a wish?