The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, \ Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit \ Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, \ Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. ~~71, Rubainat of Omar Khannam
Monday, February 21, 2005
02/21/05 Sunday -- Simple Things
It's always the little things that stun me. Halt my world in its tracks, stop my heart.. my breath... that create tiny pockets of time where time ceases. These are the things that demand from me to be written, not major events of politics or mankind already expounded upon by hundreds of thousands of newsies both official and redundant. Not great truths that even unspoken drive our social interactions. Not hopes for helpful discussion on some pesky problem with my computer... or my child... or my home... or my pets... or my man... (or lack thereof)... or my car.. or any of the other thousands of topics that people come to this the web for to seek advice and commiseration. The things that prod my Muse into insistence are naught but tiny little spit seconds of experience physical or etherial that swirl endlessly in my head. Slowly, lazily -- lazy, but nevertheless insistent --- then faster... faster.... finally becoming the buzzing of a thousand thousand beating wings demanding to be put to paper and fly, even if only to my solitary pen & pad. I think sometimes that I can ignore them and their memory will go away. Fool.
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