September 6th, 2006

public transport ticket, by Him and the Drinks


Today I went on a quick business trip to Austin, in which I flew down at the veriest early part of the dawn, and returned in the afternoon in the back compartment of a large pick-up truck. The weather, once broken, stayed, horse-like, friendly to the saddle still. After a weekend sojourn among the sweeter Kansas City barbecue, I enjoyed returning to a Texas-style place for lunch in Waco, at which entree and vegetables were placed in a circular metal contraption.

I listened to a compact disc of birdsong, upon which the sound of the song sparrow always captures my imagination. I fancy that on the Lake Ray Roberts Greenbelt Trail I heard a song sparrow this Summer. I thought to myself of pithy sayings, such as the fact that a house sparrow is neither a house nor a sparrow, but tihs kind of pith, if pith is the word, requires a kind of absorption in sparrowness I find far too much of a lark to adopt.

I picked up an MP3 player tonight at the Fry's electronics store, having missed the "cheaper than cheap" sale items in the Labor Day frenzy, but settling on an economical and morally correct 1GB system at a reasonable price, for a good, solid travel unit. I've been downloading and saving various Creaive Commons works I enjoy to get the player initiated in good order. I really like a short bit of classical-influenced material,

Marco Raaphorst, "Blowing Snow", on

I like about short weeks that they are not as long as long weeks. I have had five sheepish moments about essentially nothing at all, except the mild resonance in my imagination with which my mind confronts worry about communicative interactions, in this medium or that, except that, as of this moment, I am listening to Peter Koniuto's wonderful album "past andromeda" (an amazing free ambient download on, and cannot really be bothered.

abstract butterfly

mitty moments

"My head is full of these rescue fantasies--I throw myself in front of bullet or machine. I am the one on the strong white steed. Come to my delicate arms of steel. You’ve made me into a superhuman girl, and while I may be delusional, slowly my delusions have all been coming true"...Lisa DeBenedictis song

My personal theory is that often people are far more heroic than they realize, and heroic in different ways than they imagine. I have several corollary theories, about how people become what they fear the most, about how that which neither makes us stronger nor kills us sometimes tastes good if served as (in, or with) oatmeal, and that things that seem so natural sometimes seem so just because we have forgotten the sheer struggles we overcome.

I think it's natural, too, to have Mitty moments anyway, as they are part of our story-telling heritage. I like to imagine great feats of good works or good will. In my dreams, I become much more charming and personable than ever I have really been. I think, in fact, that the key virtue of a weblog is as a kind of public confessional that one is really not all the things that one writes that one isn't.

If you could save someone or something, who/what/where would you save?