I am surrounded by dots, to connect. One analogy is a sky full of stars with constellations and stories, how they got there. Another, drops of rain falling on a lake, how they ripple in circles and random patterns dissolving into each other. How it seems we all really need to connect with someone. Like the photo of the writer on the back of my book looking down, who’s with me now in spirit, connected.
February is the punk rock song of months, all business: 28 days in and out, under two minutes.
I’m unemployed and surrounded by time, for the first time, and yet it goes by so fast in my den, the clock is my metronome. Going through every Brian Eno record one by one, and I have a good 15.
But if you study the logistics and heuristics of the mystics
you will find that their minds rarely move in a line
So it’s much more realistic to abandon such ballistics
and resign to be trapped on a leaf in a vine
I write in spurts and go back to find the thread, keep looping, knitting. There are drafts and walks to the lake to work up ideas and sometimes nothing but a blank look out the window. How we can appear empty to others when we’re searching like this, because we have to leave ourselves to look inside.
I start writing about our time in Philadelphia and realize I already wrote about it here. (Thanks to Mike, Elyse and Michelle for reading the original.)
Eno quote from “Backwater,” 1977’s Before and After Science.
1. (Physical Geography) a body of stagnant water connected to a river
2. water held or driven back, as by a dam, flood, or tide
3. (Physical Geography) an isolated, backward, or intellectually stagnant place or condition