Thursday, March 09, 2006

THE WALK





Assorted Wherewithal
(March 08/06)
I am up but not about, as the barite and corns on my feet disallow such bipedal musing. Time permitting, which it seldom does (see Hegel for an exegesis on this point) I will reengage my feet and bustle through the day, or that which remains of the day. Perhaps I will don a paper mashie cap, on which I will append an assortment of stamen, or a bullfinch’s wingspan with feather and quill-bone intact. Or an ornate and fluffle of posy blooms, as spring is just round the corner, or so the meteorologists say. I seldom pay heed or merit to weather reportage, as it tends to be of the kind that is seldom accurate or worthy of umbrella and saffron slickerage.
This conjoining, I must say, is symptomatic of a far greater neuroticism—obsessive compulsive disorder, or OCD, a swooning and stuttered fainting that people such as I, the be-heathen, are subjected to against out better judgment. Judgment, as you will no doubt see, has very little to do with repetitious repeating, very little indeed. Nor barite and corns, one may suppose, or bipedal musings and reengagement with the engaged. I seldom, if ever, pay much heed to musing, as it tends to unseal the envelope of my already pointless a-musings. For the time being, however—time being a most unsavory barometer of ups and downs—suffice it to say that should you take notice of a recklessness most unbecoming a person of my meager talents, please feel free to take me to task and bring it unchastely to my attention. Thank you all in advance for your persistent patience, courage and assorted wherewithal. I bid you good night and most savory dreams.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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