The Endless Vacuum Awaits
Well Crazy Nomad, we'll see how far I wander with this one... Your blog and my utter lack of conventional entertainment have turned me back to the world of words which I find myself wanting to be a part of, however small, once again. So you have thus inspired me, and your last postings have left me with my site address, since trophywife and spackle were both taken, and I am tired enough to not have any other vivid ideas at this very moment.
Stealing directly from your post, as a reminder,
Despite my whim in choosing this name I find it actually quite accurate for my intentions. I think of this not as a daily or weekly or monthly chronicle - it is more of my space reserved for quiet thought, my chance to challenge myself to finally do what I learned long ago from Mr. Henshaw - that if one is ever to aspire to any true writing, one must endeavour to write every day. I doubt emails to Mr. Man count for much in this regard, I certainly lack the appearance in them of producing anything eloquent or vibrant or touching (not to belittle them, but they have become commonplace and ordinary and lack the sparkling newness of email so many years ago), although there is no apparent sign of that yet here. Space to write, space to think, to ramble, to explore. So we will see how long this lasts, and how far I go with it. I wrote emails long ago, young and passionate and seeming so full of energy and life compared to the drivel I produce these days, and envisioned my act of sending them the way that one might flick a crumpled ball of paper from a tall building off into space - the small circle of forefinger and thumb containing surprising power so that when you finally look up and wonder, the paper is gone and hidden, floating off in a void where others may or may not find it, may or may not ever let you know that they have.
Stealing directly from your post, as a reminder,
oojamaflip = A thing whose name one cannot remember, does not know, or does not wish to mention; (by extension) a useful implement, a gadget. Also: (Mil. slang) a sauce or custard.
Despite my whim in choosing this name I find it actually quite accurate for my intentions. I think of this not as a daily or weekly or monthly chronicle - it is more of my space reserved for quiet thought, my chance to challenge myself to finally do what I learned long ago from Mr. Henshaw - that if one is ever to aspire to any true writing, one must endeavour to write every day. I doubt emails to Mr. Man count for much in this regard, I certainly lack the appearance in them of producing anything eloquent or vibrant or touching (not to belittle them, but they have become commonplace and ordinary and lack the sparkling newness of email so many years ago), although there is no apparent sign of that yet here. Space to write, space to think, to ramble, to explore. So we will see how long this lasts, and how far I go with it. I wrote emails long ago, young and passionate and seeming so full of energy and life compared to the drivel I produce these days, and envisioned my act of sending them the way that one might flick a crumpled ball of paper from a tall building off into space - the small circle of forefinger and thumb containing surprising power so that when you finally look up and wonder, the paper is gone and hidden, floating off in a void where others may or may not find it, may or may not ever let you know that they have.
posted by trophywife at 10:51 PM
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