Comments on: Etc.

By: unreliable narrator

unreliable narrator — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 23:28:38 +0000

Sadly, I think all of my exes just use Google. Same effect, though. Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide.

By: Mara Collins

Mara Collins — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 05:37:12 +0000

@Sarah but how I mutter imprecations about the luxury of “recollection in tranquility” fearing that tranquility is still, like 14 years off and my recollection by that time may be all fuzzy! Also, “The language of friendship and children may not be sprung rhythm” is totally going in my journal.

@Dana I will work on consistency. But the one idea knocked out of place by the next one is meant to teach you detachment/non-attachment. Maybe. Or it sounds a lot like the inside of my head, which is why I’m all the time with the journal, see?

@Jenny So excited about the chance to talk IJ with you (oh the passages that have made me think of you!) but now I am worried about who is going to be left to drag us off to the cult de-programmer (who has to look like Harvey Keitel, right?) I love that the craziness is spilling out all over because it means, like, matched set right? And you say Right Things in good company.

@un Now I am humming “All my exes use lexisnexis.”

By: unreliable narrator

unreliable narrator — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 03:07:39 +0000

And PS ha ha Jenzai and I post at the same time and thus look we both love i metaphori and now cannot be nervous about the other one saying it first. Group hug!

By: unreliable narrator

unreliable narrator — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 03:06:17 +0000

I love not only that you get promiscuous with metaphors, but also I love Infinite Jest—both with an intensity all but preventing speech, as the Brujo's ten relatives can perhaps testify. At any rate, I just wanted to say hello; and yes; and more, maybe, someday, when/if I can speak again. And when/if am perhaps not so scopophobic in the extreme, due to a wee inflammation of Exes on the Internets. Love!

By: jenny

jenny — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 03:05:58 +0000

I have discovered that if I wait to comment until others have commented, all is lost because I inevitably feel like they have said “the right thing”, and whatever I was going to say is just stupid. But it’s not like I wait by choice – just the whole being-drawn-and-quartered phenomenon of parenting four small children and then of course there’s the whole driving camp thing.

I didn’t know about Infinite Summer… oh the things I have missed on FB! I am finding myself a copy because oddly enough I do seem to have become a joiner, though I don’t know when or how that happened, and your description of your experience of it is wonderful. I think I haven’t read it because I gave away my copy of it not knowing what it was, really, and then I felt so stupid about that, like maybe a part of me thought I didn’t deserve to read it. But that’s the not very nice part of me talking and damn it I’ll read it if I want to! Even if I have to go buy myself another copy. So take that, mean voice in my head.

oh God, craziness seems to be spilling out all over the place from me.

I love it that you are writing notes to your future biographer.

I love it when you get promiscuous with your metaphors.

I love it that I have company in the absence of burning bushes in my life, and that for the most part we have each made peace with the process of hard-earned spiritual discoveries and the appreciation of mini miracles… I have a feeling we would just scoff at the burning bush, anyway.

And of course I love you…

By: Dana

Dana — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 06:18:54 +0000

Mara, my dear, the reason you MUST blog consistently is because, when you wait so long, the ideas come tumbling out and then the reading self can’t keep up with the comments I want to make at every new twist and turn, taking me up, up, up but giving fabulous views along the way, just like our late drive up to Council Crest tonight. Just when I am ready to snap that photo and write a comment, another idea comes along and I have forgotten all about the prior one and am delicately savoring this new one, a child with a basket of sweets, anxious to try each one.
Please don’t wait so long!
And let us talk about the miracles, I am curious to hear more…

By: sarah gilbert

sarah gilbert — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 06:18:30 +0000

I was thinking, after you left yesterday, about Keats and Wordsworth, and that just because there is a Keats who does everything extraordinary by 23, does not make the fact that you have not done anything extraordinary (and by this I mean, the stuff of bibliography, because the truly extraordinary stuff is really the very most ordinary, the listening and the seeing, the light through leaves, how many perfect poems have been about how a bird’s wings lift on the wind? my heart in hiding…) by 23, or 33, or in my case, almost-very-nearly-36, does not mean that you have lost your chance, no, there is Wordsworth still, and he after all did not finalize his magnum opus until he was in his 70s (and, lest we forget, he didn’t even _see_ his daughter until she was 10, leaving him free to agonize poetically without the responsibility of either parenting or spouse-ing). at the age during which Hopkins and Wordsworth were out staring at birds in the sky, we are living these rich lives in which we are thinking and interacting and practicing at all sorts of complex human emotions, and this will be useful. at the very least there is this: Material. at least enough for a really juicy tabloid of one.

and the language of children and friendship may not be sprung rhythm, or it may very well be something altogether better.