Language

Language is abstract. Consider translation. Transpose the Cello Suites to double bass. The fact that I make any sense at all is pretty amazing. I'd rather we connect than not. A sloppy connection is better than no connection at all. The radio is fading out, I don't know what that's all about, static, I read about a huge solar flare; there's a great trio playing, violin, piano, and slack guitar, but they fade into white noise. The very nature of sound is ephemeral. Just at dawn this morning there was an owl, down the logging road to the north, and it seemed to be lamenting the end of night. A haunting unknown Bach cello piece that causes the first leaves to fall. Autumn is in the wind. Mornings, now, the lake is giving off heat, wisps of moisture dying into the air.

Beautiful and serene,
no sound, no wind,
then two crows.

I'm not sure if I serve as any kind of example. I hate being told what to do and I hate when anyone talks ugly to me; and, if I'm pushed, I usually go in the opposite direction. It's not even a conscious decision, my immediate response is just to go the other way. I'm smart enough to know when someone else is wrong. The whole idea of putting hardwood (hard-wood, hard wood) flooring in the back hallway (hall-way, hall way) is a perfect example. I can honestly say that I don't hold any grudges, and I'm surprised that anyone would hold a grudge against me. I'm mostly innocuous, at best a pain in the ass.

Three silent crows
bespeak more
than the usual squawk.

Let's hear it for the underdog. I'd rather not hear something, and recognize that I hadn't heard it, than to hear something overt. TR wants to do an opera and wants me to do the libretto. I immediately think of a Levi-Strauss triplet; The Fox, The Girl, and The Honey, and spend several hours thinking about that, finally drive into town because I know that TR's at the museum and I needed a few food supplies anyway, a back-up bottle of whiskey, some cigaret papers. So I went in to talk with him about it and he seemed acceptable to the idea. I think it's a great idea for an opera: establish motifs, play them against each other. I hate working with other people, but I like what TR does with an idea, he's bright, for a young guy, and his arguments are germane. If I can pull the sleep out of my eyes long enough to accomplish anything (anymore, I'm not so sure, as the night goes on forever, and the road (it) never ends). They opened up one lane across the bridge that spans Turkey Creek, where it flows out of Roosevelt lake, and it looks like they're going to save the bridge, rather than replace it with a pre-stressed concrete culvert. I don't have an opinion, one way or the other, I just want to get home, roll a smoke, get a wee dram, and consider my options. This hollow is the water-shed, my house, such as it is, sits atop a drainage. I pee out one side, it goes a certain direction, I pee to the other side it goes another. I should go.