Monday, July 11, 2005

a moment lying in violin

Black dreams aside, the week begins. Last night’s travels involved disruption and oscillating headache, but nobody was bloodied or pulped. Last night's travels involved truncated calculation, as in literal calculation of two days in proportion to the rest of the week. I knew the answer but the dream still would not let me finish the long division. The fact of the percentage is that it should be reversed at the very least. Whyso is my warm business.

Upon drifting to sleep two nights ago I had this thought: One must be aware of as many possible things (i.e. potential results, answers, events, animals, retorts, laughters, cries, lieus) at all times in order to avoid the worst sneaking in guerrilla-style in order to show you--because you weren't quick enough to foresee it--that it can be real, can rise to animation from the bed of a cornered thought. This is facet to my irrationally magic way of thinking that probably contributes to neuroses and general skittishness. Must think, must think, from every blasted angle, to (possibly) marionette the course of events. This does not mean to dwell on or wallow in the worst, or to cockily assume the best, but rather to be aware of the worst and best and in-between. I also believe in mind over matter both to the positive and the negative. Or, fear makes a feared thing happen. So, when I say one must be aware I mean aware and nothing more. That is, be aware that some jackass could swerve into your lane and cause an accident, yet drive with a sense of peace and cool. Be aware that your headache could be indicative any number of serious afflictions you’d rather not think about, yet proceed with peace and cool.

(Probably I write this, as Henry Miller and others have put it, because I haven’t achieved living it.)

Moment of heightened sensation is the nearly still point at which a situation can be transformed from what it may or may not have been headed to be. A virtuoso on violin sits tightly on a red milk crate, bowing strings purposefully out of tune. A hired devil’s advocate heckles. Humidity turns to mist you can massage. The leather of a harness loosens.

Once upon a time I began reading Infinite Jest. Breadcrumbs scattered and I detoured. I read other books with other wolves. Recently I have returned with better focus and drive, and I might steal lines. This line of thinking is intolerable. Return to whence you came. It’s always that everything always speeds up and slows down both.

This morning I woke up before my alarm did and I wonder if in fact I am still I bed. A well-slept spine makes you taller.

4 Comments:

Blogger {illyria} said...

my spine never sleeps which is probably why i'm so dependent on my heels.

3:52 AM  
Blogger Sara said...

probably. i wonder how tall i'd be if i slept superbly.

8:23 AM  
Blogger glomgold said...

I could benefit from the added height of that well-slept spine too.
I like the image conjured by your breadcrumbs line and that Henry Miller, why's he rubbing it in our faces?

12:30 PM  
Blogger Sara said...

not only does henry miller rub it in our faces--the quote was written on the wall of the ladies' bathroom in The Foxhead, the bar i frequented in Iowa City. so all the drinking ladies got hit by it.

12:32 PM  

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