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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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heartsick and magic
Did some running around today: the fruit market, Radio Shack (for Max to buy the components to build a radio--I told him to make a solar powered one and we could use it in the car. I have a dream of a house filled with Rube Goldbergian devices all of which do such prosaic things as make toast, boil water, dispense toothpaste...), Pen and Pad, and the bookstore (looking for new nibs for Max), dinner from the BBQ place around the corner (the owners of which, I might add, must imbibe their sauce with some addictive substance). (The previous sentence was constructed by a former English literature major who has studied grammar extensively. Do not try this at home.) I bought a pen which, sadly, wasn't enough to pull me out of the bad mood I've been in all day today (and most of last night). I've been giving poor Max a hard time all day; I've been insufferable and have apologized numerous times. At heart, I'm sick right now. Heartsick. Can't/won't talk/write about it.
Dodged a few phone calls. Was reminded of Dr. C. whose wife says he never talks on the phone, hates to do it. I am a phone-o-phobe with a phone addiction (phone-o-phile sounds too kinky). Rented a few movies tonight: "Bird," "The Asphalt Jungle," and "The Big Sleep." Watched the first two, and remembered a line from the Joy Harjo poem "Bird" that she wrote after seeing the film: "All poets understand the final uselessness of words." There was no magic to this day. Except perhaps the moment with the video rental store clerk. He and Max and I repeated almost word for word a conversation that we'd had maybe six months ago about "Eraserhead."
More lies:
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