And so you decide at last you’re a notebook jotter. It’s like finding at last you’re the inventor of scissors.
As for who invented scissors he or she lived in what we call, quaintly, ancient Egypt.
From Claude:
“The earliest known scissors were bronze, with two blades connected by a curved strip of metal that acted as a spring, holding the blades apart until pressed together.”
Picture the last scene of “Aida” where, instead of singing as the oxygen runs out, Radames and Aida wave spring loaded blades.
The notebook…back to girders above the city.
Insert here: I enjoy Sheila Heti’s “Alphabetical Diaries” which have as their incitement, lines from her journals:
“Keep a list of all the people you need to speak to, and read the books you need to read. Keep good track of your receipts. Keep in mind that none of these projects will make you any money. Keep it in a container, and publish only what has reached the next stage of accomplishment. Keep the energies in your body and contain them. Keep the house clean and neat, love him, love family and friends. Keep this paragraph which will ruin the whole entire thing. Keep this paragraph, this ugly worm that will eat all the papers and destroy it. Keep your eye on the distant, distant justification for all this. Killing evil thoughts. Knew it would only last a day. Knocked out my tooth this morning and can’t find my gold coin. Know how to love a man by knowing how to love writing. Know there is always an alternative to the situation, even being very babyish and all alone.”
Knocked out my tooth this morning and can’t find my gold coin. How excellent!
Charles Simic: “Brothers my teeth hurt/and I’ve no money/to have them fixed”.
Keep this paragraph which can ruine the whole entire thing.
I want you to understand me. I come from the region beyond the blurry pasture
The world is barbarous and filled with shadows
It’s proper to find a neutral spot where you can think about it.
It’s proper to picture scissors while sitting under a birch tree.
Keeping notebooks, that’s when no one owns you.
Here’s to the anti-capitalist diary.
Here’s to my mother’s laughter which, though she was a sad person, had a lovely wickedness.
Meanwhile, I have been in more than one ossuary on my travels. Skulls lined up like nouns for school children.
Don’t look at me ironically with your post-modern peepers.
The falling we will do ere long will be without end.
