Just stepped back into my apartment with a view after the past several days in New York, one night in the city, one night in Albany — all the hot spots. Decisions were made: that of the Holy Synod by which the Franky Scale will be changed, the decision that if I travel somewhere then perhaps I'm the one who has to do a "guest blog," and that motility (more euphemism) is as important as ever.
Franky Scale (still pre-adjusted, but now more self-conscious) has been a 6; nothing went terribly wrong today, though there were several hours devoted to simple life-management tasks, the physiological kind.
On adjusting the scale, some questions need to be asked. Is there "rating inflation" on the scale? Or, what would a "normal" day's rating be? What constitutes a normal day anymore? Or, what would the Perfect Day be on the scale? A 10 I guess, but what does that mean. Part of the synod's discussion was how before cancer I would rarely have listed so many days in the 7 and 8 range, so what we need is somepsychologicall reevaluation of the why and wherefore of the Scale. Just food for thought; and suggestions are welcome. (Based on the popularity of the imagined Wood Scale I guess that would draw more attention from readers, as has been noted before. That will have to be done on a more one-to-one basis with either visual aids or the extreme use of metaphor, if not allegory.)
I slept half the flight — and I could never sleep on flights before getting pancreatic cancer, so that's one indication of the drain it can be occasionally. Half the flight in sleep, some in eating, some in scattered thought, and random jottings. Here are some of those: for those who can't sleep on planes, over plains, or just now.
Land - open - mine - naked - long unfulfilled - still - purchase - end of time - money - walking - enlightenment - dream - death - bier - fire - peak, treeless - Timpanogas - Pagonah - Parawon - Iron Country - Modena - Tocquerville - ranch -tract/s - houses - streets - population misanthropypy - distraction - blithe - wasted coastline - free hollow - deed - tax - susnset - effulgence - nightchill - tapwater - inaccess - solitude - selections - infrequencies - frozen - asphyxiated - withered - cut - window - starvation - noncommunication - blankets - void - mythologizing - enlightenment - long prior - no hope - grass - morning dew - tree - hillock - room.
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7 comments:
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Interesting, how if by mistake but who would be so slow you click on the envelope rather than the # Comments, a Google form pops up with a chance to set down info about who you = are and you are = writing to etc. They seem to be almost everywhere. And in the meantime I think of silly and self-serving notions such as a martini, tho also someone else making and serving it would be quite alright w me. And cats, windows, a sign of welcome...
brother scott, im in t he land of huntsman today. no day off for me. i think you know cancer doesnt take a day off. glad your trip was good. ill have to think about the adjustment. my mind is a bit unfocused at present. been a very busy day with just me here. going to sf on friday. should be mostly fun, tho i HATE flying. very short will be back sunday evening. my girl needs to take care of some stuff there. enjoyed the jottings except for a few of the words, the one no hope, not so good. ill be thinking of you with your bags today. if you feel up to it and you enjoy the fireworks, enjoy yourself this evening. good vibes and lots of love your way.
argh, have no idea if my comment went. got some error message as i sent it. briefly, glad you had a good trip, brother scott. im at work today cuz the cancer never takes a holiday. im going to sf on friday, susan has stuff to take care of. sending good vibes your way as your being infused. will give some thought to your adjustment. didnt like in your jottings, no hope. but i understand. take care, enjoy yourself tonight if you feel up to it. love you dearly
David: The most simlpe of maneuvers and yet you've discovered something very important. Funny how I've never even thought of that space, icon, and pushing there, it. Ah well. Anonymity has nearly fulfilled its purpose, so I hope the timing of the envelope will not be too off. And btw, a very happy birthday last week (right?), I do hope every one in Seoul treated with due amounts of repsect and that you did not make it home at a decent hour.
TS: Have fun in SF, sis, keep it clean and don't do anything I wouldn't do, ;-)
Hey, I agree with big sis salad head about
word choices.
Except for the fact that they are your
( Mr. Jones's words, your choices ) So, I'll just
have to be quiet, supportive
and a better listener. Dammit. : )
BTW, no one tells me anything anymore. -- Who knew that Tossing of the salad was going to San Francisco???
And Mr. Jones-- you know I always love
your words-
but "no hope" and "asphyxiated"
didn't bring a twinkle to my eye, ( maybe a tear )
but as always, they ( you ) were honest.
Miss and love you--
to infinity and beyond. Sheri
Will we ever get to meet David ??
Even if it does sound pretentious, poems are art, even the ones I write, sometimes sorry to say, and with art the idea of "choices" really must be something you dont' assume anything about. So the list poem at the end of this entry, you can try to psychoanalyze it--if so, why would I so obviously drop words like "alone" "withered" or "asphyxiated" right in front of family or friends I know will worry--what sense would that make? If you were to analyze it like a piece of literature, learn as much as possible about the context, not see yourself as personally involved with it, etc., etc., etc., etc. there might be more to glean from it. It's a poem. Don't read it like a report of my trip. Read it like a deliberate lie! Yes. That's what all art is, deliberate fabrication, making something that is not the Real, and it might look like the Real to fool you, or it might intentionally confuse you, but it's all a lie. That's the beauty of it. Picasso's line, "Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth."
The one trick this lacks to say "hey, I'm a poem!" is simple lineation, so copy it out and make every line four words long; then suddenly it will be obviously a poem and ..... :-) With the modern era, however, that is basically the truth with poetry = lineation. (I'd better stop here....)
Enjoy the reading.
ahh, now i get it. well not really. but i do, ill try to lie more ahahahahaha!!!!! no really .... love you
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