Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Suiting Myself; and Photos from the Edge of Fun
ya know what? I’m just tired. I’ve got a lot of plates in the air and I’m just going to watch them teeter for a while this morning instead of typing up another chunky opus about what things smell like or some old drunk guy. So here’s what I’m gonna do for ya: here’s a few photos I took yesterday. My fetish with fireplugs continues unabated, and the proof is these two photos of the fireplug at the corner of my block. Plus, the edge of fun (I thought it was bigger, too). Don’t say I never gave ya anything. Don’t you remember that hepatitis B?
but first, a bit of fun: a friend shared a very lovely essay with me yesterday about the analogy of personality (and inhibition) as a suit of clothes. It bumbled around in my head for a few minutes and then this came out:
I am a suit
in search of a body
that can read my dimensions
and carry me out
without dragging on doorstoops
or dangling calfward
my waistband unstrained
yet aligned to the waist
and some shoulders that fill
the deep emptyness sheltered
beneath my lapels
where my heart should be found
I require some arms
that extend to the my wristholes
(agape in defiance
of nothing at all)
that can muscle their way
up within me and out
into part of the world
where I might yet belong
I am a suit
and I’m needing a body
but all I can find
is a hanger.
I think that’s all I’ve got for now. All I’ve got for public consumption, anyway. Isn’t that excitement enough for one day?
