June 3rd, 2002

abstract butterfly

Monday, Monday

I did two cards to send out to postcardx people--back to simple photographs affixed to corruplast cards.
I wonder if it really was necessary to put the explanatory text "two horses, rural Collin County, Texas" below the photo of two horses. I would say something pithy like "I don't trust pictures, I only trust words", but today will be far too busy a day for pith. My nearly perfect record of over-achievement,
urgent insistence on task completion, and general weekend worthwhileness dissipated around 8 p.m. last night. That's when I let it get dark without mowing my yard. Monday evenings are good times to mow.
I've got a simple hearing to attend this morning,
and solid work to do all day. At least mowing our
postcard-sized yard lets me feel that I've gotten something done. I also like simple, talent-free things I do myself because I don't have to worry "is it right?", "am I putting myself in someone's way?",
"have I committed a social blunder?". No, with the lawnmower it's just--got gas? got oil? cleaned the sponge that passes for a carburetor? Let it rip!
  • Current Music
    Me, I'm just a lawnmower, you can tell me by the way I walk
abstract butterfly

Second Interview

"Do you remember...?",
he said, and suddenly,
my mind imploded,
as the words which
closed his sentence
turned into small periods
punctuating my other-worldly fantasy of
something lovely
which does not bear repeating.

"Come again?", I said
because I was raised to believe
that words we have not heard
often bear reiteration, and that
passages which were not initially
entirely satisfactory
can often be improved by repetition.

Instead of answering my inquiry,
he pulled out a cherrywood pipe,
tamped on an odd pouch of
tobacco named after
some landed gentry
I cannot, post-implosion,
recall, and
gave me a stern smile that seemed to
hint something about how I was
like the girl in the song about being
sixteen going on seventeen,
but not the part about how he
would take care of me.

I find that resumes,
and in particular curriculum vitae,
should be bound on heavy paper,
as heavy paper serves as a touchstone
for worried paper-pulling much
more effectively than the light, brittle
papers used for things other than
dry self-revelation.

"It is of no moment", he
ultimately quietly said,
and I wondered if
human resources departments
offer special courses in
the Victorian novel.

Before I had a chance to
explore further what
words mean, and just what
they are for, his
desktop computer
barked in a rather surprising
operatic soprano voice
something about electronic mail,
and he assured me,
with a face jolly as Santa Claus,
that I would indeed hear all soon.
  • Current Music
    Jeff Pearce, "Daylight Slowly"