| look here |
| see behind the glass |
| seek a beauty that lies beneath |
| that which the blind eye sees |
Take a box of jigsaw puzzle pieces. Sort through the box, find the most interesting pieces of puzzle, and throw them away. Now try to make something out of the remaining pieces. That's magnetic poetry. It falls somewhere between art and mindless time-waster. Pieces I considered crucial (mirror, face, will, within, flesh, under, refuses) were all missing. Working with the pieces I had, I arrived at something not quite what I intended, that works on its own level. It's as though I've written something by somebody else. First it assembles itself, and only then you look for meaning in it. That's why it mirrors life so well. The meaning of events only comes after they've been experienced. It's a half-assed way of going about things, but I don't have any suggestions for improving the system at the moment.
The Socialist takes Warrior Princess to the cat veterinarian today. He plays the tough guy, but underneath it all he's a sucker for that cat. While WP has a feline vocabulary that makes grown men blanch, she tends to be all talk and no teeth. With luck, WP will not make an exception to that rule during today's exam. She's seeing a classmate of mine, and I'd hate to have to explain why I recommended this friend to the owner of a cat with a taste for vets.
It's supposed to rain this weekend. It wasn't supposed to rain this weekend, but then the weather forecasters changed their minds. Presumably one of them found something awry in one of the chicken entrails they examined.
Damn, but I went into the wrong business. I should have been a weather forecaster. You get paid well, you get to be on television (or radio, less glamorous, but still mass media), and they pay you to make really bad jokes and be wrong.
I could do that.