Every time I move I feel I'm growing and learning. I don't have a set amount of time I stay in each place, but I do recognize when it's time to transition. The American Dream of settling and a house with a garden or fire pit and the comfortable furniture and large TV comes strongly from time to time, and then I become nervous. Decisions of potential permanence have more behind them than they first appear; you are choosing the sort of people and businesses and laws you will interact with in daily life. Once again, what seems to be freedom is a slavery of choices and second-thoughts.
Sometimes I feel like I'm really close to understanding something, or understanding more about something about life. But I'm not sure I can or should put it in words, because if I put it in words it might come out as a cliche, a regurgitation of something I read or heard, a simplification.
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Flow
I am told that my thought process is older than my body. As I age, the number of people older than me, who can react in disbelief when I say my age after conversing with them, shrinks and I will eventually take their place. As I age, my body grows into my thought process and the compliment may comes less frequently. This uniqueness is time sensitive and I will wake one day to find it has passed. It is the way of the world that the compliment is not mine to keep and will be passed on in time.
Saturday, April 14, 2018
Home
A song for
Someone who needs somewhere
To long for
Someone who needs somewhere
To long for
Homesick
Cause I no longer know
Where home is
Cause I no longer know
Where home is
- Homesick, Kings of Convenience
 |
| Home III by Marc Majewski |
Thursday, February 22, 2018
Sometimes
"My soul turns and goes back to the place Where, a thousand forgotten years ago, The bird and the blowing wind Were like me, and were my brothers. My soul turns into a tree, And an animal, and a cloud bank. Then changed and odd it comes home And asks me questions. What should I reply?"
- Hesse, 1995
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Line I Wrote in 2009
Today the clouds filled the sky, but framed the sun so that I could still be able to see brighter things.
Thursday, January 11, 2018
Time Buoys
If each generation marks its progress through life by milestones, then individuals are lost without those markers. Each goes through the events of growing up, getting a job, moving out of the parents', meeting someone, union, reproduction, and watching the same stages play out with the offspring, and finally ending with death.
If the offspring alter the milestones or avoid them completely, the parent becomes lost in time, or I should say time becomes much the same in itself without the milestones. And for that offspring, more of time is without milestones causing life to seem even more like an endless expanse.
If the offspring alter the milestones or avoid them completely, the parent becomes lost in time, or I should say time becomes much the same in itself without the milestones. And for that offspring, more of time is without milestones causing life to seem even more like an endless expanse.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
Ja Ja Juice; A Return
A banana-dressed human walking on a sidewalk, who reaches a determined point - far from any street corner - and begins to dance.
I've decided to begin posting again. Facebook became my main posting spot, but the quality of content I have been seeing has declined; I can no longer tell spam from genuine posts.
I'd like to have a place to post just images and music videos, like Instagram without the required smartphone. After a feint at setting up a Tumblr, I figured I might like to continue this diary side as well, so why not combine the two?
The last posting was during 2012 and, while I think I'll read my past at some point, for now I will just move forward. I did graduate CSU and ended up with an additional Associate's in accounting from Brookhaven a year or so ago. Jessica and I moved to Dallas mid 2015, and lived together in an apartment in 2016, despite breaking up end of 2015. At the time, I worked as a license plate reader for a subcontractor of the North Dallas tollway company. It was an evening-shift job, which was surreal and felt like the world was ending. I never missed a sunset, though.
The beginning of 2016, I began working an entry-level accounting position for a construction company, and I'm still there today. It is educational and I feel I've matured a lot in that environment, though I still make social mistakes often. They offered to transfer me to Colorado to help start a Denver-area office. I think that's really why I've decided now is the time to transition away from Facebook. I'll post here a bit before advertising any change, as I'm not sure how the image and video posts will work.
Your friend,
Natty
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Grocery Symbiosis
I remember the days working for the park service, during the days off when the townsfolk were supposed to be working and things were mostly still. In those small towns I could never tell where everyone was or where they worked. Most places had one person running the store. I suppose many people could work for the local safeway, or whatever local grocery they have. In such a case, people work and are paid and buy food from their store and the cycle continues. It's sort of a symbiotic relationship. I wonder if a store and workers could support and perpetuate each other. The store would still need the passersby, but could it largely continue to exist off the workers? I'm not sure where all this money comes from and goes in those little forgotten towns.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Bus Ride
During the winter it seems the buses are at their dirtiest. Each has a fine spattering of mud across the whole of each side and from the outside it's impenetrable, especially with the darkened windows, while from the inside it's vaguely see-through. When the sun hits directly upon it, the windows become white and foggy, as if we're driving through heaven or the clouds. The sun is blocked once in a while allowing hazy shadows of trees or bikers to pass through. Still, it's all very surreal as if we are travelers in a vehicle passing through the memories of a person, and when one sees a memory one wants to visit, there is always a stop available.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Notes
Today I'm going through old textbooks to see about selling them to Half-Price Books and I found some notes in one. Here are a few:
Land taken from the Amazons and abandoned is being reclaimed, not by the same species but still serviceable habitat. Amazons aren't as fragile as thought.
Why are beaver dams good and human dams bad?
Do man-made lakes shift the weight of the world? Water that should be flowing isn't, thus weight.
Would there be life on Earth without a moon?
Culture is human adaptation.
Water on Earth may have come from comets hitting during early formation.
Land taken from the Amazons and abandoned is being reclaimed, not by the same species but still serviceable habitat. Amazons aren't as fragile as thought.
Why are beaver dams good and human dams bad?
Do man-made lakes shift the weight of the world? Water that should be flowing isn't, thus weight.
Would there be life on Earth without a moon?
Culture is human adaptation.
Water on Earth may have come from comets hitting during early formation.
Friday, September 16, 2011
New Mix
http://8tracks.com/walking_daydream/i-ll-miss-you
01 Album Leaf - Airplane
02 Yo La Tengo - Our way to fall
03 Caribou - After Hours
04 Cary Brothers - Blue Eyes
05 Charlotte Gainsbourg - Dandelion
06 Coconut Records - The Summer
07 Ray Lamontagne - For the Summer
08 Eric Clapton - Wonderful Tonight
09 Iron & Wine - Love And Some Verses
10 Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues
11 Coldplay- Talk
12 Death Cab For Cutie - Brothers On A Hotel Bed
13 Counting Crows - A Long December
14 Foo Fighters - Next Year
15 Pheonix - Long Distance Call
16 Robert Francis - Where You Came from
17 Kings of Convenience - Until You Understand
18 Helio Sequence - Shed Your Love
01 Album Leaf - Airplane
02 Yo La Tengo - Our way to fall
03 Caribou - After Hours
04 Cary Brothers - Blue Eyes
05 Charlotte Gainsbourg - Dandelion
06 Coconut Records - The Summer
07 Ray Lamontagne - For the Summer
08 Eric Clapton - Wonderful Tonight
09 Iron & Wine - Love And Some Verses
10 Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues
11 Coldplay- Talk
12 Death Cab For Cutie - Brothers On A Hotel Bed
13 Counting Crows - A Long December
14 Foo Fighters - Next Year
15 Pheonix - Long Distance Call
16 Robert Francis - Where You Came from
17 Kings of Convenience - Until You Understand
18 Helio Sequence - Shed Your Love
Thursday, August 11, 2011
High School Love
I just watched Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, one of the movies I bought at Borders. Michael Cera movies aren't really my favorite but I really got into this one the first time I saw it. I think the visuals that accompany the music played in the movie sync up with what goes on in my mind when I watch music being performed. It's always some battle with one hero able to make things right and triumph. I guess that's what got me into it.
I also like the innocence in Scott Pilgrim, an innocent love like back in high school. That's probably my favorite kind of love, being in the moment day-by-day and having only one expectation, that the other will be in school the next day to see each other. I wish I could go back to that instead of having to meet new people in this older age.
I don't like that actors stop being the characters they play, outside of the movie. The characters were never real in the first place, I guess.
I also like the innocence in Scott Pilgrim, an innocent love like back in high school. That's probably my favorite kind of love, being in the moment day-by-day and having only one expectation, that the other will be in school the next day to see each other. I wish I could go back to that instead of having to meet new people in this older age.
I don't like that actors stop being the characters they play, outside of the movie. The characters were never real in the first place, I guess.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Laying in Bed Under the Light of My Cell Phone
Last night I had a thought, that I go to sleep when it gets dark only to wake up again when it gets light. That light gives way to dark and then light again, back and forth. I feel like I'm getting tired of the pattern maybe because what I do during the day is so repetitive. I kind of wished that I could do one or the other instead of switching back and forth so rapidly. You know, sleep for an extended period of time then be awake for a similar amount of time. Embrace night or day only. I really wished I would keep sleeping last night. I think the song "Feel It All Around" by Washed Out captures this feeling.
Another strange thing that happened was a commercial that came on before I went to bed. Some aspect of it made me feel sad with longing. It was a realty commercial with a lady standing with tons of signs stuck into this perfect grassy hill. I think it was how perfect the hill looked that got to me, sort of like some of the landscape scenes from David Byrne's movie True Stories. It's like a road trip where you end up on this road with nothing but smooth grass around; and suddenly there are these houses, like a neighborhood of three houses sprouted along the highway. They appear, are passed, and fade in the distance so quickly almost like they are on an island in the middle of no where. I wonder if this description catches the beautiful feeling I'm trying to get across. I wonder if it will rekindle the feeling in me in the future.
I sent out a card to Dandelion, Jeska and my sister. I think it will arrive Friday, you guys.
Another strange thing that happened was a commercial that came on before I went to bed. Some aspect of it made me feel sad with longing. It was a realty commercial with a lady standing with tons of signs stuck into this perfect grassy hill. I think it was how perfect the hill looked that got to me, sort of like some of the landscape scenes from David Byrne's movie True Stories. It's like a road trip where you end up on this road with nothing but smooth grass around; and suddenly there are these houses, like a neighborhood of three houses sprouted along the highway. They appear, are passed, and fade in the distance so quickly almost like they are on an island in the middle of no where. I wonder if this description catches the beautiful feeling I'm trying to get across. I wonder if it will rekindle the feeling in me in the future.
I sent out a card to Dandelion, Jeska and my sister. I think it will arrive Friday, you guys.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Tribute to a Live Oak
He lived closest to the house, the one that was abandoned. The old-style red brick facade and the concrete patio enclosed on two sides beginning to crack. Tall, unmanicured bushes began on the exposed side of the patio and continued to the end of the house, blocking the bottom half of the windows from view. The backyard was overgrown with power lines drooping almost to the ground and isolated trees that seemed too out-competed to grow any bigger. The front yard was kept in check sporadically, enough to avoid city fines. On those days, the yard stood out starkly from the shoddy house and decomposing fence.
It wasn't always abandoned, but it was as good as abandoned. The house used to be lived in by an old woman who was never seen. Only the daughter was seen once in a while, to see her mother and to make sure the lawn was cut regularly. It usually was. The old woman died while he was still at home and he was told a family in Highland Park, the old-money neighborhood that thought itself separate from the city that surrounded it, had bought the house after the daughter had had it for a few years. Apparently the family had bought the house for their high school child, to be passed over upon completion of college. So the house was as good as abandoned, with little difference from before except the extended neglect. Perhaps this was for the best because on the small parcel of land, in front of the unkempt house, was a prize rarely seen within city neighborhoods.
A tree left to its own natural devices; huge with lengthy limbs growing outward, falling almost to the ground with weight, and curving back up to take advantage of the sun. The tree grew as if meant for climbing, and like a staircase one could go up one side of the tree and come down the other. Once, he clamored up one side and rested. Above him there was a chattering and he realized a squirrel was already to the top, wanting to go down but unsure of which path kept the most distance between it and him. Another time he met a cat in the branches; and yet another time he climbed to the top during a light rain and watched all the colors change.
Apart from natural encounters, he also had human ones within the tree. Religious speakers shared words with him from below. A few people have noticed him up in the branches but kept going with their daily routine. One person joined him, though; a best friend. She was the only other person he took into the tree. It was where they got to know each other more and the second time, it was where they kissed. After the kiss, he sat in the branch asking what they should do next and not hearing a word of it. She was blocked in by him and looked at him expectantly. He mumbled some excuse about a toll she should pay to pass and he could swear she rolled her eyes, but kissed him anyway. Still he did not move, wanting to freeze time on the tree, to hold the situation and keep it around a little longer. She pushed him down.
Suffice to say, he had an attachment to the tree, and still does. Though, now it has all changed, as all things do change. The Highland Park connection disappeared, taxes stopped being paid, and the house was auctioned off. Crews started showing up, kicking out the animal residents of the house, tearing down the fence, and butchering the tree. A tree left to its own accord will create the most beautiful living art; however, this comes at the cost of not being easily manipulated by humans. A newborn tree under constant scrutiny can take many forms, of which many look appealing; but once a tree has set its own path, it can only be scarred and mutilated. And so this tree still stands and lives with countless fresh stumps exposed all over its body. No one will easily climb into its arms and nestle into its crooks again. The new owners probably have no children anyway, let alone taste, respect.
It wasn't always abandoned, but it was as good as abandoned. The house used to be lived in by an old woman who was never seen. Only the daughter was seen once in a while, to see her mother and to make sure the lawn was cut regularly. It usually was. The old woman died while he was still at home and he was told a family in Highland Park, the old-money neighborhood that thought itself separate from the city that surrounded it, had bought the house after the daughter had had it for a few years. Apparently the family had bought the house for their high school child, to be passed over upon completion of college. So the house was as good as abandoned, with little difference from before except the extended neglect. Perhaps this was for the best because on the small parcel of land, in front of the unkempt house, was a prize rarely seen within city neighborhoods.
A tree left to its own natural devices; huge with lengthy limbs growing outward, falling almost to the ground with weight, and curving back up to take advantage of the sun. The tree grew as if meant for climbing, and like a staircase one could go up one side of the tree and come down the other. Once, he clamored up one side and rested. Above him there was a chattering and he realized a squirrel was already to the top, wanting to go down but unsure of which path kept the most distance between it and him. Another time he met a cat in the branches; and yet another time he climbed to the top during a light rain and watched all the colors change.
Apart from natural encounters, he also had human ones within the tree. Religious speakers shared words with him from below. A few people have noticed him up in the branches but kept going with their daily routine. One person joined him, though; a best friend. She was the only other person he took into the tree. It was where they got to know each other more and the second time, it was where they kissed. After the kiss, he sat in the branch asking what they should do next and not hearing a word of it. She was blocked in by him and looked at him expectantly. He mumbled some excuse about a toll she should pay to pass and he could swear she rolled her eyes, but kissed him anyway. Still he did not move, wanting to freeze time on the tree, to hold the situation and keep it around a little longer. She pushed him down.
Suffice to say, he had an attachment to the tree, and still does. Though, now it has all changed, as all things do change. The Highland Park connection disappeared, taxes stopped being paid, and the house was auctioned off. Crews started showing up, kicking out the animal residents of the house, tearing down the fence, and butchering the tree. A tree left to its own accord will create the most beautiful living art; however, this comes at the cost of not being easily manipulated by humans. A newborn tree under constant scrutiny can take many forms, of which many look appealing; but once a tree has set its own path, it can only be scarred and mutilated. And so this tree still stands and lives with countless fresh stumps exposed all over its body. No one will easily climb into its arms and nestle into its crooks again. The new owners probably have no children anyway, let alone taste, respect.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Things I Wrote
Aug. 19, 2003:
"My mind went dumb with stupid things, and I had to keep it moving with dreams of baseball and would-be-girlfriends."
"I had to daydream and keep my mind busy because boredom was a terror almost as aweful as the work itself."
Nov. 2002:
"It was a calm day at school when suddenly, RING! BANG! POP! All the kids knew that those bells meant there was a fire, killer ant, and radioactive chicken alert. Every kid ran to their locker and browsed through their suits. But which suit should they wear? So they put all three suits on. First, the fire burned away the killer ant suit. Second, the radioactive chickens pecked away the fire suit. Third, the killer ants chewed away the radioactive chicken suit. And finally, all three forces destroyed the kids."
Sept. 23, 2002:
"I was flying high above the sky; soaring with the birds. When suddenly there was a boom! Blood dripped down my arm, when suddenly. I woke up. I was on the top floor of the Empire State building. I leaned against the rail when suddenly a kid pushed me! I was falling at top speed when suddenly... I woke up. I was a file in a computer. The cursor dragged me to the recycling bin and emptied it when suddenly... I woke up. I was standing in a burning building. All exits were blocked by fire. I waited to wake up, but I never did."
Feb. 21, 2003:
"In conclusion, blah blah rippety-snippety blah bling blang blah blah blah. You will notice that I said the word "blah" and some other zangy words, that is because this topic is slow and sluggish. I dislike this topic."
"My mind went dumb with stupid things, and I had to keep it moving with dreams of baseball and would-be-girlfriends."
"I had to daydream and keep my mind busy because boredom was a terror almost as aweful as the work itself."
Nov. 2002:
"It was a calm day at school when suddenly, RING! BANG! POP! All the kids knew that those bells meant there was a fire, killer ant, and radioactive chicken alert. Every kid ran to their locker and browsed through their suits. But which suit should they wear? So they put all three suits on. First, the fire burned away the killer ant suit. Second, the radioactive chickens pecked away the fire suit. Third, the killer ants chewed away the radioactive chicken suit. And finally, all three forces destroyed the kids."
Sept. 23, 2002:
"I was flying high above the sky; soaring with the birds. When suddenly there was a boom! Blood dripped down my arm, when suddenly. I woke up. I was on the top floor of the Empire State building. I leaned against the rail when suddenly a kid pushed me! I was falling at top speed when suddenly... I woke up. I was a file in a computer. The cursor dragged me to the recycling bin and emptied it when suddenly... I woke up. I was standing in a burning building. All exits were blocked by fire. I waited to wake up, but I never did."
Feb. 21, 2003:
"In conclusion, blah blah rippety-snippety blah bling blang blah blah blah. You will notice that I said the word "blah" and some other zangy words, that is because this topic is slow and sluggish. I dislike this topic."
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Good Dream Place
The place that feels best and that I would like to revisit someday is within an RV. Compact living is fun, especially when mobile, and the limited space allows you to only keep what you need. You have to choose your possessions wisely. I have a memory of being in the very cramped bathroom of an RV, after a shower. I was toweling off when I opened the very small window that befits such a small room. Through this tiny peephole I glimpsed the park we were camped in and the shady breeze of Summer came in and gave me goosebumps. It smelled of juniper.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
A Little Something
Not sure what more to do with this or where it's going. I'll just post what I have.
*****
A horizontal string of light fades in and intensifies. Morning. I open my eyes and the strings become spheres. I know in falling asleep I lay on my side, but somehow I end up on my back by morning. She wakes on her side, facing me. Was she sleeping? Was I really sleeping? I cannot remember; but she looks back at me with eyes shining with morning dew and I'm reassured. Under bed covers her index finger brushes mine and all come together to interlock and embrace. This is one moment of many between closed eyes: a new time arrived at with each blink. The morning goes on like this, under cotton sheets warmed by two.
A horizontal string of light fades in and intensifies. Morning: half an hour later; waking next to her. The sheets jump sharply and sink like a mountain in quicksand, leaving a little hill. The landscape of the bed changes as her arm makes its way toward me under the tight sheets. She arrives, her hand hovering above me. Slowly her fingertips alight on my chest and spread outward as the palm makes its way closer to my hair-laden skin. Warm hand heating my surface which the sheets had chilled. The static her fingers collected on the journey to me raise my hairs and prick my skin until her hand covers my heart.
A horizontal string of light fades in and intensifies. Morning: twenty minutes later. We pass our morning this way, accumulating a little pile of moments, like haikus which paint a bigger picture.
*****
A horizontal string of light fades in and intensifies. Morning. I open my eyes and the strings become spheres. I know in falling asleep I lay on my side, but somehow I end up on my back by morning. She wakes on her side, facing me. Was she sleeping? Was I really sleeping? I cannot remember; but she looks back at me with eyes shining with morning dew and I'm reassured. Under bed covers her index finger brushes mine and all come together to interlock and embrace. This is one moment of many between closed eyes: a new time arrived at with each blink. The morning goes on like this, under cotton sheets warmed by two.
A horizontal string of light fades in and intensifies. Morning: half an hour later; waking next to her. The sheets jump sharply and sink like a mountain in quicksand, leaving a little hill. The landscape of the bed changes as her arm makes its way toward me under the tight sheets. She arrives, her hand hovering above me. Slowly her fingertips alight on my chest and spread outward as the palm makes its way closer to my hair-laden skin. Warm hand heating my surface which the sheets had chilled. The static her fingers collected on the journey to me raise my hairs and prick my skin until her hand covers my heart.
A horizontal string of light fades in and intensifies. Morning: twenty minutes later. We pass our morning this way, accumulating a little pile of moments, like haikus which paint a bigger picture.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Car Ride (flash fiction)
"I never mentioned this to anyone, but you came up the night he and I fought," She said. "He said he knew that we were still talking. I admitted we were-"
"How could he know?" I interrupted. "He could have been testing you."
"It really doesn't matter," She shot back, "I wouldn't want to lie anyway."
"Right."
A pause.
"So I admitted that we were still talking, but that there was nothing more between us."
I lowered my head at that. She undid us with a sentence; quickly taking the air from me and quieting the foreign pop song in the background. The way She speaks has the impact of effectively silencing opposition, as if Her final words leave no room for other alternatives. I generally accept Her words.
My head lowers because of the past She denies, though for good reason. For my innocence and lack of understanding in the situation. For my selfishness which is a constant obstacle keeping me from truly grasping and helping Her; though I don't even know if She needs or wants my help. She is strong on Her own, or wears the guise well.
I raise my head once more and glance at Her. She hasn't noticed. We move past lightly lit business strips and pitch shadows slide over and hide Her face.
"How could he know?" I interrupted. "He could have been testing you."
"It really doesn't matter," She shot back, "I wouldn't want to lie anyway."
"Right."
A pause.
"So I admitted that we were still talking, but that there was nothing more between us."
I lowered my head at that. She undid us with a sentence; quickly taking the air from me and quieting the foreign pop song in the background. The way She speaks has the impact of effectively silencing opposition, as if Her final words leave no room for other alternatives. I generally accept Her words.
My head lowers because of the past She denies, though for good reason. For my innocence and lack of understanding in the situation. For my selfishness which is a constant obstacle keeping me from truly grasping and helping Her; though I don't even know if She needs or wants my help. She is strong on Her own, or wears the guise well.
I raise my head once more and glance at Her. She hasn't noticed. We move past lightly lit business strips and pitch shadows slide over and hide Her face.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
A Couple Pasts
A replacement battery I ordered came in yesterday. I tried it in my phone with and without the power cord and each time the screen said "Please use genuine battery. Shutting down." I'm not sure what this means since both batteries look identical. How would a phone know the difference between batteries? How does it know the word 'genuine'? Strange stuff. I guess it's just a dud, so I'll have to arrange an exchange.
My parents seemed tired today. I think they were made tired by going grocery shopping and getting gas. I'm pretty sure they don't like the way the US is headed, the commercialism. I kind of feel the same way, but I keep a gentle air about me. People should be more like water.
*****
I was remembering my high school trip to New York today. It's such a big, dirty, restless place; though also very diverse and eclectic. Perhaps I was mostly impressed by the use of light - I like light - but when I remember the family trips in an RV and the small old-fashioned town and the endless unwinding road that pierced through its heart, New York doesn't stand a chance. An open sky clear of man's architectural marvels, where stars can shine, impress me far more than any big city. I speak from the standpoint of one unaccustomed to it, though.
*****
I'm basically done with a tentative short story I've been wracking myself with. I think I'll call it "Study of a Being," and let Jonathan edit it before tossing it aside for some months.
My parents seemed tired today. I think they were made tired by going grocery shopping and getting gas. I'm pretty sure they don't like the way the US is headed, the commercialism. I kind of feel the same way, but I keep a gentle air about me. People should be more like water.
*****
I was remembering my high school trip to New York today. It's such a big, dirty, restless place; though also very diverse and eclectic. Perhaps I was mostly impressed by the use of light - I like light - but when I remember the family trips in an RV and the small old-fashioned town and the endless unwinding road that pierced through its heart, New York doesn't stand a chance. An open sky clear of man's architectural marvels, where stars can shine, impress me far more than any big city. I speak from the standpoint of one unaccustomed to it, though.
*****
I'm basically done with a tentative short story I've been wracking myself with. I think I'll call it "Study of a Being," and let Jonathan edit it before tossing it aside for some months.
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