Monday, February 01, 2016

poem

closing my eyes
to see you I have to feel how you move through the words
but the words are not spoken by either of us alive.
I don't know where I am. I don't know how to reach you, except when I think about you out somewhere hearing me talk to you right here, and I let myself figure out the right way of saying the things I want to say versus the things I want to type, and I rarely even have the chance to think about my need to use a pen to feel the paper say things I cannot put in words, especially all those words I need a typewriter or a computer or just a screen with letters appearing in between a box and a frame and a division and a table that you will never see, but only know about by knowing how they typed it into the invisible machines creating for you the illusion of a website, and you see

you see
how badly I need to see

how the thought he thinks never ends and just keeps dragging on and on and pulling along
and it all isn't unimportant or dull or boring or unnecessary or things I should recognize, as you
the faithful reader in disgust say I should.
It is all so wonderful to me, how it all does connect and go wrong, or looks like
a hawk flying across a street like its narrowly escaping
just as a fading yellow Nissan pickup truck with odd black trim brusquely changes
lanes and swings wide around the large gunmetal van that had just blocked its go
while Michael Jackson sings a song I rarely hear but didn't know its title--
Soundhound later told me it's "Blame It on the Boogie"--
and I enjoy my life
I enjoy how it all connects to each other, and I enjoy
knowing that hermeneutical games are more about
my context
than your
contextual understanding.

Terry at the library today told me about 'moveiruiaqibility', which he pronounces "Maneuveralability." He explained that the q sound is the --and this is my own phonetic attempt -- it is the yral sound. This sound then also cancels the y at the end, making it more like an e. There was a lot of explanation he gave. He was a bit drunk, or maybe a lot, but he was also operating under a different, only slightly different, set of logics. I guess that is what schizophrenia sounds like. Or something. I'm not a doctor. But I knew he was testing me the way he said the guy was testing him. I knew he was not stupid and not pretending. He was himself, fucked up and needing to know if this word he invented... well, if it existed or not. On the Internet, in the world. That he was not the only one, I guess, who knew about this word.

He didn't want to use a computer, though I could use it in front of him. But I took him to the dictionary, instead. I showed him that the word he described and the meaning he gave it --"Okay, I can look over there, and and Charles there I am so that's a move and it's the capability to me to move. Or I look at the television" he said as he points to our welcoming screen "and there I can go over there and that's maneuveralability." As I was taking him to the dictionary, I asked him why the q was silent. He said it was because q stands for equation, it just is. There's a logic to this that makes sense to me.

He told me when I showed him the dictionary that I could
"take any word in the dictionary Charles and take this word."
"Mancipium"
"Oh you said that so wonderfully mansippium take the three most powerful definitions and look for the most powerful word in all the definitions."
As I look over the definitions very fast I realize something wonderful.
The theme in Arendt's reading on mastery has been very intense for me, because it's helped me to make sense
out of why I kinda like Rand being in the class alongside Weil,
and the idea of being enslaved but unkillable, of being the master's human
it just made me laugh and enjoy being alive and open enough to the possibility

that getting dragged along the tenterhooks of time isn't so tortuous
if you learn the secret of humor
as openness to the madness

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