Reading, Writing, & Arithmetic Club

Here's something that is I think is in the same vein as Lacuna and what we discussed that day at the cafe. Thicker Than Blood Cut my finger slicing potatoes, and rendered my life's blood to the breadboard. Blood from a supernova explosion more than 6 billion years ago somewhere, somewhere in this universe where I guess I've been. Where the iron in my hemoglobin was forged, and the calcium in my bones was scattered to where now they are a part of me. I wonder how in the world I managed to get here, to get all those elements in the right place, in the right sequence, at the right time to meet you here so casually. I can appreciate your journey too, on the same long fiery path as mine. I am you and you are me and we're all the same. All together, all the same. Like it or not.

  LACUNA A small comfort to know you already have lips, eyelashes, a bellybutton, a way of taking coffee; already have friends, ticket stubs, scars, a favorite book, a least favorite book, lovers, although I do not yet know your name. A small comfort to know you have a name although I have never yet said hello to your hello, held your hands in my hands. And it is delicious to imagine you have a mountain you like to climb – that perhaps you sit at the summit as I am doing now, on my mountain, and you rest your chin on your knee, watching the valley shiver like a yellow sea of leaves. You have already wept. And sorrowed. And mourned. As I have wept. And sorrowed. And mourned. What have you lost? What are you going to lose? Are you are worried I do not exist? Let me assure you, I exist. I exist. Let me find comfort in the word you even if you have not yet arrived to fill it. -  Sophie Strand

I read Lance's An Ode to the Sprial (on this blog) and it got me thinking of spirals of course, the way a maple seed spirals to the ground.  Maybe not truly a spiral, but truly wonderful in its own way.  And that got me thinking about things we may see but not really appreciate.  So here's another yada- yada about such things. Seeing Things In the space between where the pines and aspens grow, in a sunny open area of grass and flowers, a tiny mushroom pushed its crown into the light, then another, and another, until a tiny forest of psilocybie cubensis bridged the gap. This was but one miracle you missed, another occurred nearby where a big strong battered fish laid her eggs in the gravel of a stream a thousand miles from the sea; no fanfare, no cigars, no champagne, just a small miracle. And there were others you didn't see, even in your own backyard.

We have a loose rule that everyone in the club gets to choose a book for us all to read. We're in agreement to read it - or some of it, even if we don't like it.  It's my turn!  I just ordered my copy on Amazon and I can't wait to get started. I hope y'all like this book. Sophie Strand is an amazing human being (thanks to Corinne for telling me about her). This book is hot off the press.

Maybe you're reading, and I'm writing, and one and one and one is three, and when you've seen enough from me, text STOP! Or maybe close your eyes. With that, here's another whatever it is. And now maybe it's not just ink on paper. Lost and Found Lost in poetry I've had my feet burned as the sun slid unseen over the eaves. Heard the music of words that had me in tears bitter and sweet, of joy, sorrow and defeat. Had sleep lost scribbling flowery lines that in the light of day were gibberish. Felt the viper strike the fair newlywed, robed, veiled and slippered in white. Looked back in anxiety as Orpheus had, into a dark empty dream, and awakened alone. Written then these last lines from a message received on the memory of an ancient dancing tree found sealed in a bottle from across the sea.

Thanks Sue. Nice book. You gutted me. The cover of the book is innocuous enough, but wading into those pages, I found myself wandering through a landscape both haunting and visceral. It was far from a meandering journey of fiction, but a raw traversal through history's harshest terrains. Each word, each account, felt like a shard of glass, piercing and cutting me. Yes, there are silhouettes of resilience and courage to be found. But for me this is a tale of chains, pain, and the heavy curtain of despair. This book, it's not just a story. It's an echo from the past, and for some, a whisper of both caution and hope. Not so for me. Because, while I hope the Grimke's and Handful somehow made it through to a better life, I'm haunted by the knowledge that most just sank into an abyss of human cruelty, profound inequality, debilitating injustice, and monstrous, indefensible atrocities. I'm haunted by the thought of all those innumerable lives diminished, dreams crushed

 Common Ground Jump up mother luck, I could use you today. Rent's due, nothing new, heats on, no relief. I'm an angel on trial in hell, the Marlboro Man my confidant, Jack Daniels my attorney. Jury's out, verdict's unclear Pray for me.

We had our first meeting on Tuesday evening, and although there were only three of us there, Cindy, Lance, and myself, all of us had finished the book. We all enjoyed the read, and had a lively discussion about parts of it, which spun off discussions about our lives and situations here in Quincy. A good time was had by all. Before we adjourned, there were several ideas about other books that may serve as our next reading as well as ideas about writing and arithmetic projects. We decided it was Lance's turn to decide, and he will let us know the topic of our discussion for a Tuesday evening meeting in mid September. Hope y'all can join us then.

Yes, welcome to the club. A little history. Wayne and I were talking about a book both of us had read, and at the end of the conversation he said we should start a book club. I thought it was a good idea but nothing happened for a couple weeks until I saw him again.  He was still interested but said I should get it going. After talking to a friend in Colorado who has been a book club member for many years, I asked her about some books she might recommend. She gave me a list of maybe 10 books, and I chose The Invention of Wings to try to get this thing going.  I mentioned it to Lance and Cindy, and we were on our way.  The reason I chose this book was that my friend Shirley said it was by the author of a best selling book, The Secret Life of Bees, which she didn't like as well as The Invention of Wings.  Also I learned that the book was set in Charleston, a city where I've been, as my son lives in South Carolina.  Charleston is a lovely city and because I was there only briefly

I'm going to post another "poem" here, but first I'd like to say, what I'm doing is not really poetry, I guess.  Poetry, at least the poetry I read, seems to present certain parameters that allow the reader to find their own path to wherever it goes emotionally and intellectually. It's essentially nebulous, only hinting at anything certain or absolute. What I do is more specific, more concrete, I think. My goal it seems, is to have the reader essentially feel what I feel in a way that's not demonstration nor lecture, but is graphic in an emotional way. And which stimulates the reader intellectually as well. I'd like the reader to understand, with just words on the page, what it's like being me, spiritually, emotionally and intellectually, and hope they can recognize some common ground between us. I desire to share my life with the reader, and at the same time for them to see their lives, with perhaps a different lens. That's about it I guess. S

I fell in love with a married woman. I suspect this has happened to most everyone sometime in their life, whether a man or a woman. If that has happened to you, we have something in common. Here's a poem about such a circumstance. Oh, and the Sea of Tranquility is on the moon and where the first moon landing took place in 1969. Shadow Boxing Insignificant tittering banter she said in our latest dreamy verbal sparring. Another oblique conversation, yes, but a tangent was spun off dangerously close to getting to the point of revealing the painful throb of envy at my core, pierced by the allure of the forbidden fruit in the beautifully pruned tree next door. Daytime analysis and uninvited reality tell a liaison no more possible than a barefoot stroll on the sands of the                        Sea of Tranquility. Still, if I could ask her to vacate my dreams,                         I would not.