I don’t have any issue with Fence’s attempt at a booby trap, even if the suicide girls are right-wing pawns (because, I mean, aren’t we all at this point?). (That’s the ticket, Nada, nothing like a little bad faith first thing in the morning.)
What I object to are this woman’s eyebrows. And the piercings sort of look to me like little metal zits.
Encounter with an Anthroposophist
In the Jay St. subway station, a woman who looked like Meryl Streep asked me about the kanji in my tattoo.
She said she recognized some of the radicals in the character. When I told her it meant “mind, thought, or will” she mentioned something about Rudolph Steiner and eurythmics.
I asked her if she was an educator, and she said, “No, I’m an anthroposophist.”
I told her that I had studied a little butoh in Japan, and that one of its major figures (Akira Kasai) had studied eurythmics.
She replied in Japanese, saying that she had lived in Japan for thirteen months.
Only thirteen months? Her speaking was nearly as good as mine, and I was there for eleven years! I told her so.
Still in Japanese, she told me she had the ear of a monkey.
I told her yes, me too, only I always say I am a parrot. “Tensai, desu ne,” I said to her [“You’re a genius.”]
“Domo arigatou,” she answered, not Japanesely denying it…
Sighted
at Juniors in Brooklyn
while eating salmon cakes and yam fries:
Joie Lee!
Mooncakes!
(Two bunnies making mochi)
As I was sewing this evening very hastily and badly the green velvet skirt — which turned out a kind of half-failure because the material was too hard to handle — too much damn slippage — like poetry — I was musing on my general disenchantment with poetry and wondering — well, I guess I was thinking vaguely about the story of the of the, was it Cypriot? and German? pilots who recently crashed a plane possibly because they couldn’t communicate with each other in English — and earlier I had been thinking that I could use that in my classes as a kind of Victorian morality scare-tale — and the fact that “English is the lingua franca of air traffic control” was going through my head — well anyway, I was also thinking about that old Blake quote, “How do you know but every bird that cuts the airy way, is an immense world of delight, closed by your senses five?” and how impressionable I was, ready to see every bird as an immense world of delight — and how I’m too stressed out in my adulthood to fall so readily into such moments of satori — but I was wondering… are there any really erudite, well-educated pilots who, when they are about to take off, turn to each other and say, “Well? Ready to cut the airy way?” and then start the engines…
Comments don’t always show up on this browser, but I get email notifications of them — someone wrote to ask if I knew what had happened to Nick Piombino — he’s been on vacation in Provincetown — should be back soon —
N
A profound question: Is all of life really about preparing to die? A Catholic woman once told me so
Made recently (pictures to come): “river rocks” dress, two bias skirts (one a bold swirly print, the other tiny polychromatic paisley), a gypsy muu-muu (decorated with real Afghani coins). Just started an olive-green velvet skirt with godets. (Illusion)
Nemo is sitting on Gary’s shins (G.’s in bed reading Foodboy by Carol Swain). Nemo is staring right at G.: “He can’t stop staring,” G. says.
Suddenly I understand a word: cathexis.
(Get it?)
With the twin occurrence of the end of summer and the end of New Orleans-as-we-knew-it (although I didn’t know it as I have never been there 😦 ) I find myself even more than usual interested in organizing things, all the debris and fabulous surpluses of my daily life. Some primal part of me believes that if I just DO MY HANDWASHING everything will be OK. Seeing it hanging over the tub is amazingly consoling.
The government, it renders us… parentless.
Or it’s like… our parents… are crack addicts…
Otohime 