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May. 7th, 2010 10:57 pmI'm sorting out a stack of notes so they get thrown out, dealt with, or put in the right piles for research. As usual, my handwriting produces some interesting puzzles. What action do I take concerning one can moderate ghosts? Do I need, perhaps, to lay my hands on a second can of ghosts, or trade it in for one can of mild ghosts?
Another note tells me I must write to Zeus, but fails to include his address or advice on the proper honorifics. It also fails to tell me what I wanted to write to him about.
A third note tells me "It's harder for novelists than for Impressionist painters" and instructs me to "Explain." Well, I would if I knew what I was talking about. Was it a thought for a story, for an essay? I feel like a student who has walked in late for an exam. With a hangover. After skipping class all term.
I found another that has in big bold letters: Degustation - Hubris meets Angst. I know what this one's about, actually, but the words alone are so much more interesting than the words with an explanation, so the explanation is now mouldering in the recycling pile, with the words.
Also interesting is "105 Collins Street" which is where one Joe Polack had his dental practice nearly a century ago, not too far from the Polack Sisters and their shop in Royal Arcade. I wonder if Uncle Joe dropped in on the aunts during lunchtime?
And now there's a note from a class, where one of my students was telling a story and I found myself embroidering a little. My student told the story of the bushes outside her front door, which were infested with vampires. My variant begins with her good housekeeping. She swept the vampires from both the laundry and the larder. The path always needed sweeping, too, because the zombies dribbled there. I've got about two pages of notes, but no real story. That student creates images that make me scribble on the way home lots of times - she just sparks lots of thoughts.
All the rest were sadly understandable and, even more sadly, didn't include the note of my dental appointment. I need that note. And I really don't think I memorialised work on the root canal by linking it to Impressionist painting.
I give up. I'm going to do brainless activity and let my mind dwells on cans of ghosts. I imagine a label for one tin would show the shadow of a bloody hand dragging silently down the side and eerily fading when I look too closely.
Another note tells me I must write to Zeus, but fails to include his address or advice on the proper honorifics. It also fails to tell me what I wanted to write to him about.
A third note tells me "It's harder for novelists than for Impressionist painters" and instructs me to "Explain." Well, I would if I knew what I was talking about. Was it a thought for a story, for an essay? I feel like a student who has walked in late for an exam. With a hangover. After skipping class all term.
I found another that has in big bold letters: Degustation - Hubris meets Angst. I know what this one's about, actually, but the words alone are so much more interesting than the words with an explanation, so the explanation is now mouldering in the recycling pile, with the words.
Also interesting is "105 Collins Street" which is where one Joe Polack had his dental practice nearly a century ago, not too far from the Polack Sisters and their shop in Royal Arcade. I wonder if Uncle Joe dropped in on the aunts during lunchtime?
And now there's a note from a class, where one of my students was telling a story and I found myself embroidering a little. My student told the story of the bushes outside her front door, which were infested with vampires. My variant begins with her good housekeeping. She swept the vampires from both the laundry and the larder. The path always needed sweeping, too, because the zombies dribbled there. I've got about two pages of notes, but no real story. That student creates images that make me scribble on the way home lots of times - she just sparks lots of thoughts.
All the rest were sadly understandable and, even more sadly, didn't include the note of my dental appointment. I need that note. And I really don't think I memorialised work on the root canal by linking it to Impressionist painting.
I give up. I'm going to do brainless activity and let my mind dwells on cans of ghosts. I imagine a label for one tin would show the shadow of a bloody hand dragging silently down the side and eerily fading when I look too closely.