without any lodestar
Aug. 24th, 2001 01:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aslanta man in the square sang this as i exited the T, returning workward after interviewness: the other night dear as i lay sleeping / i dreamed i held you in my arms / but when i woke dear i was mistaken / and i hung my head and i cried / you are my sunshine... and etc.
and so that's what it's like, these days, isn't it? just like the old song. today i am lackluster and hollow-limbed. collar-boned and strip-kneed and penny poor. [in for a penny, out for a pound] i think i need to locate my lucky pfennig from padova, the one that winked up at me from the ground with the dark coppergleam and luck skipped into my pocket, jiminy cricket's pale & far voice.
a. loved the photo. i suspected as much. i must work at the photo project. i must rid myself of this terrible grinding inability to focus; i must cleanse my brain of thoughts of eyes and yesterday's knicker-shifting gaze. i am holy in this heat, separate and distinct, and if water still lingers on my skin like reluctance then i can certainly enter doors i have already passed through. and i will regain sanity if it takes all day with scissors and paste and the project to convince me it's possible. the airplane calls me today, and i want it so badly i can taste it, in the solidity of the air.
i saw heather when i went to see the muffin man, and she had a surprise for me, a copy of penelope fitzgerald's "the means of escape", a short story collection. i think it is quite fitting. but is a new job my escape, or is it indicated i should escape from the new job? this is unclear to me.
enough of this.
and so that's what it's like, these days, isn't it? just like the old song. today i am lackluster and hollow-limbed. collar-boned and strip-kneed and penny poor. [in for a penny, out for a pound] i think i need to locate my lucky pfennig from padova, the one that winked up at me from the ground with the dark coppergleam and luck skipped into my pocket, jiminy cricket's pale & far voice.
a. loved the photo. i suspected as much. i must work at the photo project. i must rid myself of this terrible grinding inability to focus; i must cleanse my brain of thoughts of eyes and yesterday's knicker-shifting gaze. i am holy in this heat, separate and distinct, and if water still lingers on my skin like reluctance then i can certainly enter doors i have already passed through. and i will regain sanity if it takes all day with scissors and paste and the project to convince me it's possible. the airplane calls me today, and i want it so badly i can taste it, in the solidity of the air.
i saw heather when i went to see the muffin man, and she had a surprise for me, a copy of penelope fitzgerald's "the means of escape", a short story collection. i think it is quite fitting. but is a new job my escape, or is it indicated i should escape from the new job? this is unclear to me.
enough of this.
