post 9 november

justwrite 9 november

sometimes we see the lines drawn ourselves but from the shelves fall all those other ideas those sensemakers those noiseshakers and in the next room the soap opera that you don’t even follow starts to call you and you are thinking wait what and shut the book you meant to read heed the wrong advice and spice your coffee with curry and whether or not it turns out well the spell is broken and the token gesture that set this all into motion is lost in the ocean of details where every fish is a red herring every spare detail is carved into the sea the sand hands it right to you and you store it in a shell that crawls away when you look backward or forward and there are more words to warn you with but this is the way it will usually be and we rarely can see the trajectory for more than a perfunctory glance and we miss our chances by stuffing our faces and winning races we don’t need to run we can not sun ourselves long enough to tan our smiles into permanence we are waiting for the right commercial to tell us what to remember to tell us who to vote for what to love and how to live our lives but the commercials we see are not the right ones or if they are we don’t know and who is holding your remote who is controlling your scrolling through the information from where your fascination with language comes there’s a humming drone of some sort of mechanism turning the gears fearing the years that pass without accomplishment just measuring in the astronomical the fickle view of youth and old age and all the stages in between no one understands this point no one has ever lived and I will be the first to figure it out and on you go and you do your best and so do the rest and then what?