the unsame world

How can we live in a same world?
I made the mistake of looking out 
the clear glass of the front door 

and smiled (did I really?)
           
that the man who saw it took it
as sign he could shovel.
My shovel was leaning on the porch

so there was no need of him.

But it was early in the morning
and I was just coming down to tea
and the man was cold, explaining

his deal for something to eat.

The things we could, need to do.
The real things beyond our real.
I didn't carry

cash, what is also called the thin
line between warmth and cold, 
the places where people stood. 

when half of the rest is asleep

always, when half of the rest is still asleep and the world as is known is quiet, with only shades of light in hues of blue and gray, the nip in the air still brings with it traces of the origins of sleep.  always, it is the best time, i think, to wander and wonder what is it in this world we all have to so joyously suffer.  one's perceptions so limited no matter how the travel and empathy.  not a few times did i wonder if it is better not to know a good number of things, including that one can only know so little.  perhaps it is better to be asleep like the rest and the others who sleep joyfully, fitfully in unknowing...

to make sense of the world,

some resort to words and the trouble (and pains) of definitions: this is
what is, and therefore, that is not.  in other words, this is

the drawing of lines.  the making of differences,  the pointing
of marked territories, otherwise known as concepts.  

or boundaries.  whichever is deemed closest  to or farthest from
the perceived real ("real", of course, being a construct

which no one says, unless...)  Simone says
"One is not born---

but becomes one" which sums the efforts of many who trouble 
(and pain) with definitions:  what we think we know

we may not really know.






*the full text by Simone de Beauvoir is "One is not born a woman, but becomes one."


















 
  

fragments. on ways of living.

1.  (i realize now) not being able to write for a week while traveling is like closing the dam, letting the waters rise.

2.  at least three languages involved.  and how do we float through the surface of understanding and communication?  the language of the empire.  no matter how much we may have our own reasons to abhor it.

3.  like every thing else, the socialbook is part illusion.  there are more stories when distant friends are actually met.  no matter the short notice, no matter the so short a time.  such as:  V now doing kabbalah and learning Aramaic.

4.  a gift of turmeric roots that still need to be planted.

5.  a visit at the sequestered home-museum of a fallen dictator's wife: palpable opulence, palpable greed. 

6.   an attempt to make a red paper doily to impress a girl.  and failing.  the beautiful woman who makes it look so easy, smiling at the effort.

7.  Louis Theroux's Extreme Love: Autism. 

8.  On ways of living, what is love then?  what is love?  a reservoir.