I have so much to say and nothing to do today but say it. That’s usually what it takes: nothing else to do. And today that’s probably still not enough. I’ve been fighting, fighting with it for a week now. And why. I don’t know. Last night Jill and I were talking about how foreign films often feel so elemental, like all the bullshit’s been stripped away. On my mind was Yi Yi, which I watched this weekend. It’s about regrets. And not saying what you feel when you feel it, either because you can’t identify it or because you are afraid of being annihilated. Either way ─ being foreign to oneself or being ruled by fear ─ sucks. We all face those struggles, though some of us do it more gracefully than others.
Song for now:
Poem for now:
From the Shore
By Carl Sandburg
A LONE gray bird,
Alone in the shadows and grandeurs and tumults
Of night and the sea
And the stars and storms.
Out over the darkness it wavers and hovers,
Out into the gloom it swings and batters,
Out into the wind and the rain and the vast,
Out into the pit of a great black world,
Where fogs are at battle, sky-driven, sea-blown,
Love of mist and rapture of flight,
Glories of chance and hazards of death
On its eager and palpitant wings.
Out into the deep of the great dark world,
Beyond the long borders where foam and drift
Of the sundering waves are lost and gone
On the tides that plunge and rear and crumble.