Wednesday, April 27, 2016

I will note

I was talk about how The Speaker of the House was "unspeakerable" for years.

Two thoughts on Galileo

1 While men do most of the thinking, women are, in general more talkative. They also do more of the raw teaching. This would indicate two areas of brain function - an internal one, and an external one. Both of these have to be aligned.

2 The internal must be first, but it is the get the reward of getting the external - even if the internal exist first. This is a common trope, not just for communcation.

北京麻雀 - New York - 10

20
A story, finished but not begun

It was that difference between driving and sitting, is between active growl vs. reading a Sunday version of the newspaper. But in fact the two are not so different in the real world, a flick of the wrist is no more than the difference between tingling with desire, and easing through a chair and partaking of tea. The real difference is in fact mental – especially when one is driving over the Nevada Sands, and the tilt of the road has made Las Vegas disappear from one's view. One moment it is there, with all of the mirrored spires littering over the view, then the next minute it is gone with only green signs until the next gambling moment comes in to view.

This made no difference to the driver, because he was going to leave Nevada – while crossing the Hoover near Boulder City. He looked backward, while wiping his hand on his jeans, to see if some highway patrol was mimicking his movements – and finding no trace of the police car, he revved his speed up to 100 mph. It was at this point that the Mustang purred in, in his own mind, with delight. If he had thought about it, he would know that it was an illusion, but this was a concept which did not enter in to his equations, he had other things to think about. Or at least he thought he did, keeping his wheels on the right side, and all the little things that driving this speed entailed.

Enough too smuggle various things between different states, which all had different regulations that they enforced. Keeping all of the details in his mind was enough for him. He traveled on the Interstate 515, and then on US 93 - down the twisting causeway between Nevada and Arizona, where things worked differently. Arizona made a point of this, between stoplights which would take pictures and then discard them if the prosecuted was going only a little bit faster then permitted, to the large basin across the top of the state where nothing grew other than signs advertising what a great deal property was, if one bought now.

What was most important, was the moment that conifer trees, in a wave to find by the moment of a great fire which leveled all that was before. He knew this well, because he had been caught speeding – and the officer mentioned it while scribbling out his ticket. No amount of begging and pleading would get him off of the ticket. But then he found – coming in three weeks to pay, that he did not need to bother, because they had lost, or perhaps never even got, the summons to be here. That was also the last time his car was clean of illegal substances. He had bills to pay, And he had learned something important – Arizona talks loud but enforces quietly, where as Nevada does both in the same screeching tone.

It had a defect: It did not capture the crawling fear of the first time that he had escaped the light, but that was the point - the character would not have felt the same way, because he was a driver through and through, but he imagined that he would have to capture what the character did feel.


21
An Apartment on E 102 St, 10 Floor,
Early in the Dimly Lit Morning Twilight
New York City, 2012

It had only been yesterday that they visited the museums along Central Park Avenue, and for a while, both of them slept through the evening hours. For her, it was because she was tired and still had her internal clock set to Beijing time. As for himself, he slept because she did, he did not need to slumber of his own accord – it was a comfort of being next to her which was important. But in the morning for the sunlight had awoken, they both awoken at the same time. In the blackened room there was only a night light which could not be seen from the bed, it was an oddly green tone, but in no other aspect did it stand out. What it did do was allow the couple to peer in to the other ones eyes, which became more both of them are kind of staring grace, as if a cross of silver erected itself over there heads. They both conversed with each other, all in English and Chinese, till the man got up and went over to the window, and looked southward over the enormous range of Manhattan. Then he turned his head backwards, and in English spoke to his lover.

“I know that I have been wretched, and have wasted all of this time that we have been given. So I understand if you would want to leave me. I know that I have been absorbed in my own thinking, whether it was ready fiction, or nonfiction. It was the writing that gripped me, and if I looked up from the writing, it was to engorge that satyr wickedness which was the only thing that sex meant to me. All of this was wrong, and I do not really know how wrong it was until tonight. Which makes me ashamed, in a myriad of ways – a feeling of grace – known not grace but a revolution stings my face such as the deteriorated influences that come from I know not where. From the bottom of my – as we say in English – heart, please allow me to ask forgiveness, and more than forgiveness, resting on some word I cannot describe.”

This was not something that she expected him to say, even asking for forgiveness was not generally part of his nature, except brusquely and in professional circumstance, not personal. Before she was cold, in to the depths of her spine – as they would say in Chinese – but with this glaring act of his, she warmed from her cheeks all the way inwards, and, without her conscious mind, and easy Absolution formed on her lips – more than an exoneration or remission of guilt, but an indulgence of clemency and mercy. She half smiled, and for a moment she became like Guanshiyin – known primarily as the Bodhisattva hearers the cries of the world, and is the as the personification of compassion. Thus she put her head up upon her arm, while she searched for a white robe.

“In most of the times that I have known you, it would never have occurred that you demanded any form of forgiveness. What happened today which changed your mind? Was the in the day light hours, or was it a dream that came to you in the middle of the night? It seems so radical a move on your part, and abrupt about face, which seems to come from deep in your spine, and without any provocation.”

“It is both daylight and nighttime combined that has made me think anew, because for a long time there was only myself to think of, and only very rarely did I think of you – or anyone else. I am sorry my words are not like the writing I have done, I am sorry that they carry no eloquence – but that is because The ridiculousness and expressiveness comes from repeated regretting, until the words are finally perfect. With only one go, I do not have the capacity or potency to achieve the effectiveness which I so often desire.”

“What would you say in prose – or in a poem – which you cannot say right now.”

“First I would take some phrase, which is ordinary and common. Than I would attach my glance at the first common word, and look for one which was more precise, and had a more gracious meaning, and then do this again and again, until the line was perfect, and then I would start out with a second phrase, and do the same thing with it. It would take me a long time to reach for the quintessential meaning, rising up from the flawed meaning that the sentence begin with.”

“How long would this take?”

“I do not know, because I never have gotten to the pure essence, the exemplary best that I can relate to. This is why I search for music, because in polyphony there are chords which is sound more fluidly, even though the individual parts may be plain, in and of them selves.”

“It cannot be that that is all there is to do it, almost anyone who has the … what is the word?” Eagerly she watched his face as he mouthed out the word “tenacity” - which though it was not exactly the word she was searching for, was good enough for the present purposes.

Then there was a pause as his face looked thoughtful, “It is enough to get a novel published in a small publication, and I mean very small. It is not enough, however, to get something larger published – by which I mean a publisher who gets notifications in the various places where things are reviewed. That is many steps up from here.”

“What you have to do?”

“Be younger and fairer than I am - my novels will die, though they may take on life when I am long dead... that is a distinct possibility. But it does not bother me much, I am writing for myself and a few people who read for the joy of reading, as oppose to the joy of talking about what they read. And there is a distinct difference between the two.”

“Do not think they are good enough?”

“I do not know, but I think not, at least not yet, but I will continue trying in my own way.”

“By trying to make your prose better? Or do you need to market more?”

“I suppose I could market, but my real objective is what Debussy called the 'arabesque', the moment that something other than the melody elucidates the form. I know how to do this in music, but I still do not have the gift for words.”

“But your music is not well known either.”

“That is because there is no one in music who wants to sleep with me, and in music there are at least 300 years of excellent music, where as in the long history of writing, most works are forgotten, or translated. We read Dante, but very few of us read Petrarch – though I have, most people have not.”

“It is the same way Chinese, there are only a few classic texts which survived that long.”

“Where as Bach is still fresh after all this time. But, do not worry, it does not matter whether anything I have done - fiction, nonfiction, music – will be remembered at all."

“ I will remember it.”

“That remains to be seen, everything is lost in time.”

“Just as your not lost to me.”

“That will remain to be seen, and whether it is healthy or not.”

“It is already being a long time since we started our chats not even knowing what the other one looked like. There was a magic to knowing that somebody out there want me, and in London - though you may deny it – I felt that there was a connection there, and at that time the words had not come into being. Sparrow for only you, I remember how you came up with that word for me, though I did not think you knew what it meant at that time.”

“I knew that Mao placed it on his list of permitted pests, though sparrows were not really a pest. In my minds eye, thinking of you hopping along a road keep me pleasure in those dark days when I could feel the minions of the law closing in on us, and it was no use to tell my elusive bosses in the company as to why it was so. You were the only thing keeping my life together. And if nothing else, I should thank for that.”

“That could not for now, though there were four pests – and only the sparrow came out of the dark heart of the Leaders heart – because he could not stand the site of them.”

“You will have to tell me the story, in detail, sometime.”

“There really is much more to tell, what is important for us, his the way we both knew what Sparrow meant, though we did not talk as to why. We just knew it, and that, to me, was very important. I admit I had had several lovers – all of them Chinese – but something reached in to me and said that I wanted something else – though I did not know what it was.”

“Most people want someone who looks like them – only 20% of us want someone different. I think it is genetics, but no one has found the exact causes has yet.”

“You think it is genetic?”

“At least in part, but it changes all of each one of us who is different, and forces us to enjoy things which otherwise we would not even deign to consider otherwise.”

At that point, in the dimness that was becoming light, he went on about how this question of genetics becomes a driving force in an individual's life, as more and more of one's being was wrapped up in the question of how to make someone different from our selves, truly, like us – and then love us. Because it gripped us with the question - “What is love?”
And from a internal pit in the back of one's head came the reply: “You do not know until someone else says it to you.” and that is not good enough, so one tries to search even harder, though in the end that is all there can be. Reaching out on a precipice, and hoping that if you fall, that someone – somewhere – will catch you. Someone who looks different. Who is different in so many aspects, that one cannot count, even if one wished it.



  In the end, they drifted off to sleep, with their hands intertwined, and a gentle look of bliss on their faces. Even in slumber, they finally looked as if they were in peace. For the last time, they looked as if they had found what they were looking for, with chords out of The Well-Tempered Clavier, later label BWV 846–893.