Day Off

Which, of course, means reading all day. Read a novel by Alex Kava this morning, an ok diversion, which I needed after 14 straight days at the museum. Awoke disoriented about what day it was and what I was supposed to be doing. Mom called and it was easier to ask her what day it was, than to try and figure it out. They're hanging on, barely, unhappy at my sister's house, though they have every comfort there. Two old, frail, almost blind people, that can hardly get around, who still desire independence. Spunk. Spent the afternoon reading "Mimesis", Auerbach. It's a very good book, he's much like Walter Benjamin, way too bright; and the way he approaches 'the modern', though this book is 50 years old, is complex, multi-leveled, and relevant. I'm reading the last chapter first, then going backward through the book, chapter by chapter, and I recommend this system. Auerbach is an academic, he wants to tell the story told in a straight line progression, but it's a better story if you start with the present and move backward. Like those bagpipe players: I studied with, who studied with, who studied with, who studied with, back to the limits of time. The invention of the bagpipe, releasing pumped air through a shaped orifice. Playing a penny-flute. The Indians, locally, preferred bird femurs, hollow as they are, and drilled holes for keying that were perfect in pitch. That makes music a language, right? No, wait, maybe more like a smell, something that infringes on our consciousness. I don't know what makes the world go round, I do know if you lean back against a tree and stay as quiet as possible, the natural world expresses itself. Rousseau had it right. Thoreau. High winds in the afternoon and the trees are stripped. I admit to colder weather. They're hardly gone, before I start reordering things, recording myself, as a matter of course. I'm probably post-modern, when it comes right down. You and your magnifying glass. Harmonics are another whole issue, where meaning fails The last high winds shook the house like a useless glove. I crawled under the stairs and bit my nails. but it wasn't necessary, what I build stands up well to extreme events. Say the wind blows a full gale, everything gives a little, this house, where I am now, actually flexes. I've trained myself to watch the wind push through. When the mandolin pushes in from left field, you listen.

From last Sunday, my phone has been out.