11.01.2009 - work coffeehouse
After clearing up space in my head (and life) to actually get things done, I feel a sort of empty loneliness. Like today when I reached for a napkin, then had to withdraw my hand from the thought.
We don't scrawl on napkins anymore, I chided. That's not very clever.
And so a less-cluttered life takes getting settled with. As if all that junk had its place in my heart, and that part of me is hollowed out - almost saddened, almost sickened when it's gone.
I even thought of writing a letter to eros one day in a distress. Or, what if I see a still life somewhere about and feel that odd compulsion to take grammatical notice of it in some...
Ah, no, but the lesson must be learned: not that napkins cannot be written upon or letters to eros cannot be scrawled or that still lifes must go unshot. Not at all. But that to hone down all of things is to have a fuller, richer life. That I must give attention to those things that truly do deserve it. That I must ensure such things do, in fact, get said attentions.
The purpose of this excerise is to clear the clutter so that the muse may stir, rise, walk again amongst the fields of my soul's inhabitation.
Napkins and love letters and still lifes can all be a part of that, all in their own way. They only must be fitted into the already existing mold of my numbered days. Or else, they are only the wasteful clatter of a life that only feels clever.
But never truly burns bright enough to be.
We don't scrawl on napkins anymore, I chided. That's not very clever.
And so a less-cluttered life takes getting settled with. As if all that junk had its place in my heart, and that part of me is hollowed out - almost saddened, almost sickened when it's gone.
I even thought of writing a letter to eros one day in a distress. Or, what if I see a still life somewhere about and feel that odd compulsion to take grammatical notice of it in some...
Ah, no, but the lesson must be learned: not that napkins cannot be written upon or letters to eros cannot be scrawled or that still lifes must go unshot. Not at all. But that to hone down all of things is to have a fuller, richer life. That I must give attention to those things that truly do deserve it. That I must ensure such things do, in fact, get said attentions.
The purpose of this excerise is to clear the clutter so that the muse may stir, rise, walk again amongst the fields of my soul's inhabitation.
Napkins and love letters and still lifes can all be a part of that, all in their own way. They only must be fitted into the already existing mold of my numbered days. Or else, they are only the wasteful clatter of a life that only feels clever.
But never truly burns bright enough to be.
1 Thought(s):
The flame that burns twice as bright lasts only half as long.
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