Yesterday at work was fine. Long moments where nothing happened, punctuated with moments of chaos and sudden necessity. It's a strange kind of stress - like being subjected to the whims of nature... There will be drought, rain, wind gusts, earth quakes, tornadoes and hurricanes. Tsunamis probably as well, though I have yet to notice one.
I suspect one will come.
I spent most of the evening reading - trying to tune out the hospital noise and immersing myself to the psychological waves and voyage of a book written over a hundred and fifty years ago that, in my eyes, is as fresh as yesterday. It wasn't easy. But I began to notice that the streams of people flowing back and forth saw I was trying to concentrate on something and there was sort of an appreciation for it - like whispers in a library. It's interesting what we hold as reverential.
I suppose like libraries, there are churches. And like books, there is the need to confess, and I got a confessor last night and couldn't escape him.
I think I know more about his life now than he does.
I don't know how one explicitly details all the outlet mall shops in a suburb to a complete stranger without being some sort of sadist. He talked to me about buying low and selling high in the field of used cars as well.
I don't care about Wal Marts or Home Depots or franchise chicken stands or minivans or long-bed pick up trucks, and I take a certain amount of pride in proclaiming that I never will. Fuck That Shit. Sorry...
As a writer, I know, if you don't like - or are provoked - by what you are reading you will spin out of orbit pretty quickly...
Talkers don't know that. They will freely unload as much verbal dysentery as fast as they can reload their mental rectums. I am not sure whether they know that they are hostage takers in that regard.
Any ideas for a defense?
Yes. I am brazenly asking for comments in an entry complaining about too much communication... So what?
I suspect one will come.
I spent most of the evening reading - trying to tune out the hospital noise and immersing myself to the psychological waves and voyage of a book written over a hundred and fifty years ago that, in my eyes, is as fresh as yesterday. It wasn't easy. But I began to notice that the streams of people flowing back and forth saw I was trying to concentrate on something and there was sort of an appreciation for it - like whispers in a library. It's interesting what we hold as reverential.
I suppose like libraries, there are churches. And like books, there is the need to confess, and I got a confessor last night and couldn't escape him.
I think I know more about his life now than he does.
I don't know how one explicitly details all the outlet mall shops in a suburb to a complete stranger without being some sort of sadist. He talked to me about buying low and selling high in the field of used cars as well.
I don't care about Wal Marts or Home Depots or franchise chicken stands or minivans or long-bed pick up trucks, and I take a certain amount of pride in proclaiming that I never will. Fuck That Shit. Sorry...
As a writer, I know, if you don't like - or are provoked - by what you are reading you will spin out of orbit pretty quickly...
Talkers don't know that. They will freely unload as much verbal dysentery as fast as they can reload their mental rectums. I am not sure whether they know that they are hostage takers in that regard.
Any ideas for a defense?
Yes. I am brazenly asking for comments in an entry complaining about too much communication... So what?
5 comments:
You are thinking more like a reader and less like a writer when asking for a defense. Without the interaction and observation of others, your post would have read something like "went to work, read a book, goodnight." But with the interaction of the silent passersby and the ramblings on from the talkative stranger, you wrote something worth reading. Good listeners make great writers...just something for you to chew on.
It was sort of an after-thought, honestly. Oh yes, I can be a bit impulsive...
I like interaction with writers.
People who write advertisements are a different deal though.
I don't know about that, can you honestly say you'd be the person you are today without classics like "I wish I were an Oscar Mayer weiner" or "Where's the Beef"??? I think not sir, I think not.
I am not a Toys are Us kid. I don't know how old I am but I do know my childhood is over. I really did smile when I read your response though.
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