Each time I publish a scrapbook page, I feel I toss it from my high window. Its conceptual origami catches an earthly wind. I watch it disappear, blown far from my obelisk’s shore into a virtual populace. Over a frantic boulevard it floats, settling on a concrete median beneath a floriferous tree, there on the packed dirt amongst chicken bones, leaves, plastic cups. How is it it you reached down to pick it up? How is it, amongst fumes, glare, pedestrians in tight pants, honking horns (so many dangerous vehicles) you even noticed my scrapbook page?
If my scrapbook page pleases you, orange stars and plus signs shower my desktop (like like like), confetti tossed in friendly appreciation from you, out in that fleet & fleeting world.
I am grateful for your appreciation.
One year ago today I flung my first scrapbook page out into the world–a piece of notebook paper with some scribbled words (read it here.) I’ve found an earlier piece of notebook paper, excavated and illustrated it with figures about the complex concept “enough.” I’ll publish these figures + torn text one-at-a-time this week.
To start, I give you a graph, and a definition, of the word “enough”:
Is it enough? I think so. I think you are. Enough.
Thank you for looking. Thank you.
I feel overwhelmed. So I decided to reblog these figures from some time ago. Figures, as I mention on my about page, are what I use to illustrate complex concepts. I am working on some new figures, too, which I will publish later. I think they are about the word ENOUGH, but we’ll see.
Black swan would like you to know that he is overwhelmed, too. He is squawking and flapping his wings in the tidal marsh below to communicate his persistent shock and dismay. We ate TURKEY on Thursday, not swan, but it still was not a good day for the black swan. (click here if you don’t know what I’m talking about). Soon, I’m going to have to dump out the bones, and I just hope they’ll fall somewhere he’ll never see them.
So here’s an old post, on the word OVERWHELM.
Figures [click to enlarge]:
I look up
like I’ve fallen down stairs.
[click to enlarge]
figure [unenumerated]: boreal
Midway on life’s journey, the right road lost, I find myself in dark woods
pursued by armed men crying: Nymph! Goddess! Celestial Queen!
They say they are artists.
Their eyes are on me.
They do not presume that my solitary repose is neither for being seen nor to better see them.
(I include the confounding nor: boys, you forget how
pretty you are.)
I will not play hunter, bewitcher, or conquered prey in this interminable masquerade.
Leave me alone. Go away.
(foot fiercely stomped.)
(bows lustily drawn. )
(swift incurable flight. hooves.)
figure 7: boreal (otherwise)
I first asked this question in my post on fashion.
( Phoenix: no fear of darkness. darkness/fathoms/fire. journey/easy. it circles/home. ODALISQUE ODALISQUE ODALISQUE/you’re afraid of fire. I bring a light/a match/and strike it. FORGET MYSELF AND WATCH YOU. COLLAPSE/LIKE WAX/COLLAPSES. AROUND AN INTERIOR FLAME.)
[ ] Odalisque.
click to enlarge.
(ghosts carry blessings & strange dreams around sharp corners through cracks in the sill.)
(moonlight turns the turn of the stair into an ascension.)
(ghosts carry blessings and strange dreams in their open palms.)
they are exquisitely delicate
(tangles of dust pins string hair.)