A Large Context, Long Yielding

28 November 2013
1:27 AM
Manila

M.–

When I first saw Dali’s The Persistence of Memory, I thought: wow. This was it exactly–it was a scene out of a dream, and time seems irrelevant, inconsequential. I thought it was brilliant that time melts, and not just fades away, or dissolves. When we’re awake time is solid, a presence, a thing that announces itself with each arrival of the hour. When we’re asleep it swims together with other things that are in our subconscious–which is to say, everything is important, or nothing is.

from Happily
Lyn Hejinian

Constantly I write this happily
Hazards that hope may break open my lips
What I feel is taking place, a large context, long yielding, and to doubt it
would be a crime against it
I sense that in stating “this is happening”
Waiting for us?
It has existence in fact without that
We came when it arrived
Here I write with inexact straightness but into a place in place immediately
passing between phrases of the imagination
Flowers optimistically going to seed, fluttering candles lapping the air,
perservering saws swimming into boards, buckets taking dents, and the
hands on the clock turning–they aren’t melancholy
Whether or not the future looks back to trigger a longing for consonance
grieving over brevity lining is “unfinished work” to remember to
locate something in times to come
Sure a terrible thing whistling at the end of the rope is a poor way of
laughing
And okay in the dim natural daylight producing it in fragments to the
skeptic to take it is recognizable
Only the dull makes no response
Each reality needs to be affirmed
Several reasons can be linked to all that we ascribe to that
And whether or not a dog sees a rainbow as mere scratches suspending
judgement, all gesture invisibly as we all think what we think to form a
promising mode of communication bobbing something

It is midday a sentence its context–history with a future
The blue sky is at all high points and the shadow underfoot moves at zero
point
Someone speak it within reason
The one occupied by something launched without endpoint
Flaubert said he wanted his sentences erect while runningalmost an
impossibility
Nonetheless, though its punctuation is half hoping for failure, the
sentence makes an irrevocable address to life
And thought the parrot speaks but says nothing this has the impact of an
aphorism
Are you there?
I’m here
Is that a yes or a no?

November seems to me a blurring of the lines for us. I’ve stopped keeping track now of who’s writing in the morning, or the evening. Lately all I know is that the world turns, and life goes on, and time moves whether we’re ready or not. Sometimes we catch each other, and we have the luxury of time to talk. Sometimes I am asleep and you are awake, and sometimes you are in bed and I am at my desk, and we have to wait for the other. In the meantime, we have these letters.

I think waiting for each other–that’s significant, yes? It’s not only a mastery of patience and of minutes or days passing, but a willingness to be here, to stay.

Goodnight,
T.

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