Month: January 2016

Inertia & Nostalgia

Where does the world go when I am not paying attention? Used to be it didn’t matter. Maybe at least that one small thing is true. Or not.

Sometimes I see the world in forms, shapes, and patterns. If I watched more television (what an antiquated word that seems, now) I might know what I meant.

As for you, when you arrive at the ballroom, don’t look back. And whatever you do, don’t look in the mirror.

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The loaded question

When someone is beside themselves, where are they? And is it beside or besides?

Turns out to be a crowded field. Just ask the people standing there. Some are beside themselves. A few are reading books. One or two are looking at you funny. *Others are lining up stones.

From the Cambridge  Dictionary:

Beside: a proposition meaning ‘at the side of’ or ‘next to’.

Besides: a proposition or a linking adverb, meaning ‘in addition to,’ or ‘also’.

So you can be next to the babbling brook but also you can be running away from the people in the field. Your choice.

I left Cambridge and wandered over to my bookshelf to see what Roget (1946) had to say on the matter of beside / besides.

Illuminating!  But that’s for another post.

* I’ve been working my way through Lapham’s Quarterly, their Crimes & Punishments Issue (Volume II, Number 2, Spring 2009). They were kind enough to feature Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery, which I hadn’t read in years.

 

 

 

We never could tell time …

On the other hand, the general concept of time is interesting to think about.

Or not.

For instance: The day after the morning before.

Is this a trick? Probably. Would that be today?

Yes, we think so. It might depend upon the time. The timing could be off.

If such a thing even existed. If it didn’t, then what would we tell the alarm clocks?

 

A Curious Case of Murder

My morning started with coffee and ended with murder.

Actually, it’s still morning, but the murder is real enough.

Happened over a hundred years ago at the Moana Hotel in Hawaii: Jane Stanford, the co-founder  of Stanford University, died of strychnine poisoning.

The headline in the Honolulu newspaper was clear: Mrs. Stanford Dies, Poisoned.

Underneath the headline were her final words: “I have been poisoned. This is a terrible way to die.”

So who murdered Jane Stanford? No one knows, really.

What is known is that her murder was covered up and her cause of death was changed to heart failure. Who would do such a thing?

The president of Stanford, that’s who.

 

 

 

 

The difference between us

Listening to Sonatas for Cello by Johann Sebastian Bach. Wondering if I am drawn to music (and musicians) because we both use instruments to pluck things out of the air.

But so do dusters in pursuit of motes. So what sets us apart?

Not much, as far as I can see. I suspect we all love motes, for our own, slightly selfish, reasons. Good for us.

Pay attention, yes? That’s all that matters.

Oh, you little rulebreaker, you

Having decided to create a blog that would updated only on either a Wednesday or a Saturday, here I am, on a Thursday. Gasp!

Ah, but who cares? I’m having a great time, skating through the vast confines of the shifting mansion of word-shot worlds. Let me know if that made any sense to you, haha.

Was it only yesterday that we built the village that lay in the path of the storm? Probably. They’ll be okay without us for a little while. Time stops when you turn your back on your creations.

Or not …

If I don’t show up by Saturday, send out a search party.