Molecule, July 3

I like the sound of the word molecule. It makes me think of a clear drop of water on a clean slip of glass. Of something speculative, and mollified.

Of something shining on the fingernails. A manicure. Of crystalline K'nex in pure white space, like an ad for prescription medication.

To "molecule" (v) is the opposite of to "ridicule". It is therefore the word of scientists and pacifists. It is the word of those who have seen, and wondered, and given "due regard".



"Due regard" cf. Richard Wilbur, "The Eye" 

POTUS, June 28

I watched a video of T this evening, an old interview with Rona Barrett.
He was 34 then. And comparatively palatable, his speech vague but giving the impression of reasonableness, because he spoke quietly and methodically, more like Mister Rogers than a dictator. He didn't sound bitter yet, like a harassed housewife. He purred along with comments about the need for America to be respected and influential, about men greater than himself, about political office in the modern era, about Iran. He used the word "abeyance". He seemed shrewd, in his own way. Certainly Ms. Barrett showed him deference. He had a little glow of mystique. I thought about Mr. Darcy, and his wealth making him attractive. At any rate, he didn't come across as a "buffoon" - a word the Brits used to describe and dismiss him two years ago, when he was not considered a serious candidate.
Lord, please help me work through all my feelings toward this man.

My Native Hill, June 22 2018

Thank You, dear Lord Jesus. Thank You for this loneliness, which is also awakening deeper parts of my mind & heart & soul. I've just been crying, reading Wendell Berry, "A Native Hill". I resonate with so much in it.

Why do we have a love of place? Why do I have a love of place, more than almost anyone I know? I still dream in Florida, among the bushes and branches. And here, tonight, I went outside as night was falling and was so captivated I couldn't resolve to go back inside. I went in and out several times.
Outside was alive.

Opening and closing the door was as abrupt a difference as the opening and closing of a singing birthday card.

Fireflies were everywhere. Green, yellow, orange. Wind was ruffling the thick, burgeoning leaves, with such a beguiling susurration. A tender, cool, delicious mist of rain was falling, making every exposed part of skin chill and tingle. It was pure sensuous pleasure.

I turned off the deck light and danced, swaying, then turning. Finally it was dark enough that I lifted my arms to spin, and to waltz largely. The damp cool air billowed up my dress and made dewy ringlets of my face-framing hair. I had eaten strawberries and cherries from C, so that sweet tang was still on my tongue.

The treetops kept swaying and speaking, a sad and sweet communion. Being there,  feeling Your world, and belonging somehow to it, in it, with it to You - was a kind of sex. Probably better than sex.
Sometimes I think You have spoiled me for romance, because You are so incomparably good at making love to me.

Ekphrases on an Iron

September 14 2015 

(blind drawing)

11:30-11:35

The Iron is iron, for once.
Cast iron, a bit pocked and
slightly rusty, but shiny at the handle,
and on the bottom (except for a
rash of rust).
It's only 5 inches tall,
and the handle juts out another
3 or so, thickening for grasping, with
criss-cross pattern. There are 2 holes on the inner side.
The handle is split where it joins the
iron, at the bottom.
The handle curves elegantly.

September 15 2015

(blind drawing)

11:39-11:44

Two spots like lichen.
That tantalizing gap
between handle and base.
A raised "7".
This new angle is amazing.
I didn't see the crosshatching yesterday.
The pock marks are beautiful,
crusty, like whole wheat bread.
The handle is black and shiny
as a beetle's back.
Funny how boat-like the shape is.
And how inhuman. There is almost
nothing that makes me think of a body.
Only the body implied by what this is:
a tool, man-made, for Man.

September 16 2015

11:34-11:40

There it is.

That face like a tribal mask,

only a cyclops, drinking with

puckered lips from a bendy straw - 

out of his single eyeball.

This angle reminds me of a stethoscope,

and a door handle, 

and the heavy ring-handles

of our roasting pans at Camp.

But now that there is a face,

finally, these things seem less

important.

Whatever he is staring into, that

black hole in the neck and navel

of a seahorse,

it must be enthralling.

"Drink my tail.

I'll kiss your eye" -

some frightening seduction like that.

Like saltwater taffy, Karl Marx,

Andy Warhol.

11:40 - 11:53

cyclops

stethoscope

sea horse

Andy Warhol

If you look with one eye,

everything is flat

and things far away are more

apparently related to the forefront,

though not in proper

relation.

This kind of seeing

allows us clarity of a kind,

for a short while 

we believe our illusions.

Old wounds, deeply

embedded and/or drifting loosely

(like feathers in air

or delicate fish in deep water)

may become sharp and publicized,

as offensive and vulnerable

as Warhol,

only, monstrous and unnecessary

to others intentionally winking.

September 17 2015

11:51 - 11:57

Flower press

Book weight

Sandwich (panini) maker

Musty wooden rooms, 

arranged as they would have been

back then,

with plastic apples and ears of corn,

a broom, kettle, checkered apron,

and iron.

Boat more like an anchor

Sail more like a skewered 

bratwurst.

You could scuff across starched

clean shirts,

or be a murder weapon.

So quaint and 

deadly.

Doorstop.

Full stop. 

September 18 2015

11:07-11:12

What kind of iron did they use in the 1950s?

Because I keep thinking back that far,

no farther. But I'm pretty sure this

could have been 1910, or even 1892.

The "7" is a bit suspicious, though.

It feels modern. (So modern, ha!)

I love cast iron. Cast iron pans 

are the best. The other day I 

used 3 cast iron pans to make 

lunch: omelets, sweet potato fries,

and a quick sauté of onions &

peppers (for the omelets).

There's something so comforting 

about cast iron. But it's meant

to be USED, and so this almost

purely decorative antique piece 

seems weird to me.