"that absent father who always gives you money for you to buy material things but isn't there to see what you've become"
😭3
Sidewalk [Los Feliz 3]
Mourning a new limb, I step outside
into the latest light. They don’t chill
the iced tea in there: I think they ought
to charge less for it. Magenta in the sky,
orange creamy in the sky. I keep
thinking my phone is ringing. I recall
the film and the solemnity in the dark.
Imagining a movie theater that only
allowed couples. Not a porn theater,
though, regular movies. Now imagine
a theater only for people who have
never seen a movie. You’d only go
one time. Now imagine one for your
parents, and they tell you all about
the movie they saw but you aren’t
allowed to see it. And now imagine a
sidewalk which didn’t hurt your feet.
Mourning a new limb, I step outside
into the latest light. They don’t chill
the iced tea in there: I think they ought
to charge less for it. Magenta in the sky,
orange creamy in the sky. I keep
thinking my phone is ringing. I recall
the film and the solemnity in the dark.
Imagining a movie theater that only
allowed couples. Not a porn theater,
though, regular movies. Now imagine
a theater only for people who have
never seen a movie. You’d only go
one time. Now imagine one for your
parents, and they tell you all about
the movie they saw but you aren’t
allowed to see it. And now imagine a
sidewalk which didn’t hurt your feet.
❤2
I am not much of a thinker, truly. I might be an unthinker, honestly. I might be incapable of true and real rumination. But I try to find it in others, and I admire them for their thinking their thoughts. I always watch from without, expectantly. I am proud to say that I have observed what I imagine are a great many thoughts thunk.
“There one goes,” I say to myself out loud on a park bench, when I see a person who appears to me to be thinking a great thought. “And there’s another!” I shout about their thinking because it gives me a sense of hope for the future, a sense of hope that I might one day think, as well?
There is always the worry that I could be praising someone who is thinking of doing horrible violence, murder, even. I try not to let that deter me from praising anyone – even if I don’t want to accidentally encourage a prospective murderer. Sometimes, if their smile is not quite right after the praise, I say, “Unless you’re thinking about hurting someone!” Their smile usually fades after Isay this, but that is not necessarily because they mean anyone harm, and perhaps because they don’t like being accused of such things.
If I’m being honest, I’ve been working on one thought, though it belies how I tend to think of myself. I’ll share it with you now. My thought for the first time anywhere: thoughts, it seems to me, are not unlike moonbeams, which you certainly find yourself in the glow of nightly, when you’re on your nightly moonlit walk, and yet they are not something you take the time to appreciate, staying with you with all the fortitude of melted snow in one’s winter coat pocket.
Not like sunbeams. Sunbeams that warm us and fill us with the temperature that allows us to function as normal.
This is how I understand sunbeams to work, or rather, this is what I would understand if I were capable of understanding any solitary thing at all.
For me, I fear, it will always be others’ thinking that brings me any real joy.
But I can hope that, in time, I’ll have one really good thought, too, can’t I?
Don’t you think?
https://somewords.boards.net/thread/46/matt-rowan
“There one goes,” I say to myself out loud on a park bench, when I see a person who appears to me to be thinking a great thought. “And there’s another!” I shout about their thinking because it gives me a sense of hope for the future, a sense of hope that I might one day think, as well?
There is always the worry that I could be praising someone who is thinking of doing horrible violence, murder, even. I try not to let that deter me from praising anyone – even if I don’t want to accidentally encourage a prospective murderer. Sometimes, if their smile is not quite right after the praise, I say, “Unless you’re thinking about hurting someone!” Their smile usually fades after Isay this, but that is not necessarily because they mean anyone harm, and perhaps because they don’t like being accused of such things.
If I’m being honest, I’ve been working on one thought, though it belies how I tend to think of myself. I’ll share it with you now. My thought for the first time anywhere: thoughts, it seems to me, are not unlike moonbeams, which you certainly find yourself in the glow of nightly, when you’re on your nightly moonlit walk, and yet they are not something you take the time to appreciate, staying with you with all the fortitude of melted snow in one’s winter coat pocket.
Not like sunbeams. Sunbeams that warm us and fill us with the temperature that allows us to function as normal.
This is how I understand sunbeams to work, or rather, this is what I would understand if I were capable of understanding any solitary thing at all.
For me, I fear, it will always be others’ thinking that brings me any real joy.
But I can hope that, in time, I’ll have one really good thought, too, can’t I?
Don’t you think?
https://somewords.boards.net/thread/46/matt-rowan
somewords.boards.net
Matt Rowan | Some Words
An Unthinking Person I am not much of a thinker, truly. I might be an unthinker, honestly. I might be incapable of true and real rumination. But I try to find it in others
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Man is divided between two transcendencies: his mother's and his God's-whatever kind of God that may be. These two transcendencies are doubtless not unrelated but this is something which he has forgotten.
His mother is transcendent to him because she is of a different genre and she gives him birth. He is born of an other who is always Other-inappropriable. For centuries, at least in the so-called Western tradition, that transcendency has seldom been recognised as such. The mother is seen as the earth substance which must be cultivated and inseminated so that it may bear fruit. The father is the one who gives form to the child, who uses earth to create him. The father is in the image of God the creator. The mother is occasionally deified because she is capable of bringing a divine son into the world. She is revered as the mother of a son of God but she does not have, or no longer has, any divinity deriving from her sex, apart from her maternal status. This means that there is no longer any woman God, any God the mother of the daughter; there is no longer any spirit of divinity circulating between mother and daughter, between woman and woman, etc.
His mother is transcendent to him because she is of a different genre and she gives him birth. He is born of an other who is always Other-inappropriable. For centuries, at least in the so-called Western tradition, that transcendency has seldom been recognised as such. The mother is seen as the earth substance which must be cultivated and inseminated so that it may bear fruit. The father is the one who gives form to the child, who uses earth to create him. The father is in the image of God the creator. The mother is occasionally deified because she is capable of bringing a divine son into the world. She is revered as the mother of a son of God but she does not have, or no longer has, any divinity deriving from her sex, apart from her maternal status. This means that there is no longer any woman God, any God the mother of the daughter; there is no longer any spirit of divinity circulating between mother and daughter, between woman and woman, etc.
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