Friday, May 27, 2016

Obscure Designs in the Morning

You don't participate in dialogue - dialogue participates in you. And yes, spelling is relative, as is communication, yet there remains an absolute sense that there is an absolute. Attend thusly! Bringing up God feels pointless now, a distraction, almost as if one isn't serious but just wants to close the future down. Cards were scattered across the dining room table, mostly face-down, but here and there revealing content (oh look - the three of hearts crossed by the king of clubs) and intimating both games and value, and how appropriate, how helpful. Attendance, attention, a yes. In that moment we found our way, mostly by relaxing the inclination to control the direction and also by rolling down the windows a little. The map was not helpful but it was a comfort to have it, which struck me as a sad commentary on the human condition, our little aspect of it, and yet it was a nice drive, an act of love, and so who cares? Like coffee but harder to articulate, maybe. Getting old is okay as entropy is just another way of finding the way that long ago found and made you for its own obscure designs. In the morning there are certain fluid insights that by evening calcify and become oppressive, hence our need for a body to sleep with and ceiling fans and cookbooks nobody opens. He said he was working on an essay entitled "Condom as Text" and though I understood there was also a barely restrained sense of "Oh for Christ's sake learn to run a chain saw or ride a horse." Nobody cares if you want to learn or not, or want to fall in love or not, or want to become the head of a big television news network. You wears your shoes, you walks your path. Or you disdains your shoes and discover that's the path. On the other hand, the stairs invited a level of panic that made discourse a challenge. Sparrows, chickadees and enterprising hummingbirds abound. Begging for gogyohka is no help but being willing to write poorly is. Alms please. I am tired, mortally so, and night is always falling somewhere, and now this. This this.


  1. Good Morning, Sean. I laughed out loud at "Oh for Christ's sake . . ." and am learning how to laugh at myself for writing poorly, which I find is what happens when I try to shoehorn my words into a certain shape while working too hard to be clever. I'm thinking keeping the windows down in the storms is better than any map, but not my natural response. . .

    (And, as some sort of commentary on modern life, autocorrect capitalizes windows :) )


    1. Hi Cheryl,

      Thanks for the kind words . . . I have been meaning to write and tell you how much your out beyond ideas has been resonating lately. The new approach - what is it, how do you think of it - seems clearer and less caution, less subjected to the interior editor maybe . . . I don't know. I like it.

      Yeah, writing poorly . . . I am reading some Gertrude Stein right now, lesser known stuff, and it reminds me how we just need to produce - keep the tap open - and what shows up is okay, is right, whether we like it or not. What do we know? Less and less it seems, and thankfully so!

      Anyway, thanks as always for reading & sharing . . . Glad you're here.