Religion

You'd never guess it from the way I write this blog, but I'd say that my true religion is 'Strunk & White'-ian.

Bergman

In some of those older Ingmar Berman movies the movie begins at some beach house, though a scanadanavian beach house, and people are pushing a boat back in from the water. Well, that it probably just how one of his movies begin, but lots of them seem to have coastal scenes. That movie scene may be the inspiration for my vision of launching a canoe into Lake Huron.

Return of the Canadian

Heading back now, and its years later. Everything is different, but it is still heading back.

Eating Eight by Lars Paul Linden

I am reading "Eating Eight" by Lars Paul Linden. The book made its way to me.

It is a slim book. It is a sci fi story written by someone who cares about rock concerts, comic books, and maybe spray painting. I have mixed feelings about it, but it yields few hits on Google, and that alone made me decide to mention it here. But reading it seems to awaken something in me. Also, on Amazon some copy is selling for $187 or some absurd amount.

And now back to the house.

The dominant feeling

What is the dominant feeling of childhood? or what was the dominant feeling of your childhood? Did some emotion occur more than others? Or was there some emotion that occured perhaps rarely, but now occurs much less or ever never?

I don't want to romanticize childhood, but I'm guessing that the feeling of wonder often dominates childhood. That feeling when you look at something, and it mystefies you, and you are somehow curious about it, and as if there is an explanation (not something technical) and knowing it matters or would be better.

Depth

For a while at Boston College, towards the end, I asked everyone I knew to tell me what they thought depth is. Not the depth of physical things, such as lakes, and closets, but the depth of people or maybe music or books. It was a difficult question, and no one ever seemed really confident with their answer, confident that they knew.

The rabbit garden

Rabbit ears grow straight up from the soil.

Ya

its true. Memory hasn't been haunting me lately. Could have something to do with so much happening recently. Could be.

Before I worked

in the old age home I might have been surprised at the prospect of memory decreasing with age. But now I wonder, how could it be otherwise? The older we get, the more that happens, the more to remember, the more that is forgotten. Who could remember all the events of a life of 80 years.

yes, yes, there is more to it than that (short term memory goes as well, and those old people always seem to remember the far far past) but still, too much happens in a life for memory to be able to remember it all.

A friend writes

Our names are so similar. I always
think of the word "affinity"
whenever I consider the mystery
of the similarities of our names.

My discovery on the banks of the river hackensack

The reeds sprawled across the ground lay in patterened placement, mimicking motion of water or wind. As I paced back and forth they broke beneath my feet and became disarrayed, the mud below appearing.

This in New Jersey?

Wish of paper transmission

Dear ________, ___.
Nice to meet you.
I am Kyushu University graduate school Human environmental educational
institution in Japan
Psychology course Master one year.
I am doing research on the theory of mind now at the graduate school.
That I am now the most interested is whether change is looked at by tasks
parformance by giving the character characteristic to the characters of a
false belief tasks.
Your thesis was found when the reference about that was looked for.
May I ask you a favor? have then, your paper "Do children attribute false
beliefs by attending to characteristic features?" sent by the attached
file -- is there nothing?
Although an impolite thing is thought by sudden mail, I am waiting for a
pleasant reply.
Sincerely.

The bridge on the river hackensack

Well she done did it, there, taking that nice photo.

Wild Laver

Behold the wild laver. I do not know what it is, but just looking at the label raises in me a vague feeling that I may have to go on an expedition myself, to retrieve the wild laver, searching it out in its natural and isolated habitat, perhaps somewhere in the further reaches of northeastern asia.

Two things my father warned me about

1. Reliance on the color black in painting
2. Reliance on drums in music

This is a jump photo. 

Dreams I never had.

1. A man kneels in the corner of the room. There are two piles of shoes next to him, both enormous. He takes a shoe from the larger pile and I see him doing something to it, though I can’t tell what. Something falls from the shoe. He picks it up and throws it, and then the shoe, into the smaller (though also huge) pile. He repeats this procedure, and as I approach I see that he is cutting the sole from each shoe.

2. We were on a bus. Another bus ride. The trip was supposed to be long, but the bus ride seemed to continue forever. Outside the terrain was bland and indistinct. As night approached we began to wonder when we would reach our destination. It seemed we should have arrived hours before. Everyone seemed to be dozing and for some reason we didn’t want to disturb the bus driver. The bus drove on and after night came you fell I began to grow tired. Where were we going?

3. The field seemed to go in every direction. The grass and weeds up to my knees, but growing sparsely. Bits of old junk here and there, also sparse: tin cans, old mud covered coins, a scrap of plastic, weathered yellow newsprint, perhaps remnants of utterly destroyed shacks. I felt I wanted to stay forever. Something was there. But after wandering aimlessly for a while I somehow found my way to the hill, went down, found the bridge and the tracks, and went home.

4. I was taking a tour of the great pipeline. The guide had taken me out of the city on foot. After hours of walking, the houses growing fewer and fewer, we arrived at the Great Pipe Park. He opened the black gates with a key and we followed a narrow paved path through thick woods. The sound of the air suddenly changed, the path turned, and there stood the entrance to the great pipe. It was amazingly dark as we entered and began the descent, but the guide produced a light and I was able to glimpse the corrugated surface of the pipe. “It’ll be a long time now,” from the Guide. We continued to walk.

5. I had found a blank pad of pages. I searched for a pen and finding that began to number each page. The numbers followed the usual sequence and only one per page. But each occupied a different position of the periphery of the page. And each written differently and some with designs around the number. On the first page I also wrote a title, “A book of numbered pages” You had been watching and suddenly asked, “Why are you doing that?”

6. Two reptilian creatures dashed at each other across the pavement of the parking lot. But as they were about to collide, a dog barked and both scurried together into the shadows of the open garage.

The air

at night comes in through the window, slightly open. The outdoor air is a bit cooler than is the air already in the bedroom, and it has a certain smell and dampness that takes me back somewhere, or maybe not back somewhere to some previous time, perhaps it just takes me somewhere else. Unfortunatly I think that mingled with that air, at least now, is the exhaust from the fast food place next door, so there is that special air smell as well as cooking grease smell.

The adventures of supercreep

are many and varied. Who knows where he lurks, or why?

Just had to type that. Not idea why.

The room

The room is rectangular with fairly high ceiling, from which hangs (and spins) an old ceiling fan. There are no windows, and the sole source of light is a fluorescent lamp placed width-wise on the ceiling. There is one bed in the room with a thin hard mattress.