Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Tamed Dragon
Taming the Dragon sounds so much more interesting that actually having tamed it.
Sounds like the fire is gone. All the magic - poof.
That's what it feels like inside the absence of a compulsion to write.
Easier was it when the finger, connected to the pen, spilled the not so metaphorical blood of the heart.
Now, there are highways between need and want. Long stretches of road that separate the flame from the campfire. How do you warm another person with matches soaked in minutiae?
Understanding the distinctions of that word, which is incidentely the name of this blog, adds very little to the overall effect one can have on the world, but it makes something interesting - just what that thing is, I'm not sure.
i was very disappointed to find out the e.e. cummins already had some sort of a monopoly or at least claim to the little "i". I thought I had really stumbled upon something when I began to use it. Expressing the tiny insignificance of my me - a reversed solvency of the soul. a bounced pay check.
there is certainly some disdain for CAPITALIZATION - not that the liberal whimper in me has something to defend - it's just so formal. So run of the mill. That it is expected and suggests a lack of attention to detail in its absence ruffles my feathers - makes obtuse my particulars.
Can one imagine no longer using the first person singular? For a minute of conversation? A day? A week. One would perhaps need to seek refuge from an awareness of self-centeredness through silence. Try it. Do you understand of what she speaks?
SO - the recovery business. Working in recovery. Drunks, meth addicts, heroine junkies, bingers. purgers, gamblers, coke-heads, pill poppers, inhalers, gamers, sex addicts, klepto-maniacs, cutters, my brothers, sisters, saints.
I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i i i I i i i I i i i i i i I i I i i i i I I i I I I I I i i i i i i i i I I I i I i i i
A whole bunch of enormous and tiny me me me's running around inside a broken heart. Having been there makes the trouble almost endearing. I want to squeeze a heart of joy into the broken drum. Sooth a million sorrows with a whispering. Patch back up the brokenness with a nod.
The question now is do I break the silence with some detail?
What is the imaginary line that one might cross between sharing and spiritual extortion?
Where is the listening?
Puff lived by the sea. It is not a happy ending. Like so many fairy tales and children's stories, with awareness comes the realization of the great tragedy involved. Is this the point? To break the heart as early on as possible? That we might understand each other? That we might learn to defend the weak? That we might build a wall around ourselves? What? Why?
all of them.
Something huge is taken away by something bigger.
And we act as if.
I suppose this is where god comes in. God. god. GOoD.
One enormous amorphous unnameable sigh
holding up the umbrella
marshaling us home.
*Minutiae (pronounced /mɨˈnjuːʃɪ.iː/; sing. minutia, /mɨˈnjuːʃɪ.ə/; both also /mɨˈnjuːʃə/) are, in everyday English, minor or incidental.
In biometrics and forensic science, minutiae are major features of a fingerprint, using which comparisons of one print with another can be made.