The stone is a mirror which works poorly.
Nothing in it but dimness.
Your dimness or its dimness, who’s to say?
In the hush your heart sounds
like a black cricket.
— Charles Simic, "The stone is … ," The World Doesn’t End: Prose Poems (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1989)
Sunbeams over Lake Pontchartrain and the I-10 Twin Span Bridge.
Near New Orleans, LA.
For most of my adult life, I have read, like E. I. Lonoff in Roth’s The Ghost Writer, primarily at night: a hundred or so pages every evening once Rae and the kids have gone to bed. These days, after spending hours on the computer, I pick up a book and read a paragraph; then my mind wanders and I check my e-mail, drift onto the Internet, pace the house before returning to the page. Or I want to do these things but don’t, force myself to remain still, to follow what I’m reading until I give myself over to the flow. What I’m struggling with is the encroachment of the buzz, the sense that there is something out there that merits my attention, when in fact it’s mostly just a series of disconnected riffs, quick takes and fragments, that add up to the anxiety of the age. How did this happen? Perhaps it’s easier to pinpoint when. Certainly, it began after the fall of 2006, when I first got high-speed Internet, which I had previously resisted because I understood my tendency to lose myself in the instant gratifications of the information stream. […] It all felt so immensely freighted that to look back now is to recall little more than the frantic blur of stimulation, the lab rat’s manipulated jolt at pressing the proper button, the junkie’s temporary relief at the fleeting fix.
~ David L. Ulin. The Lost Art of Reading: Why Books Matter in a Distracted Time.
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Mt.Fuji with lake Motosu by MIYAMOTO_Y: This place is lake Motosu near Mt.Fuji.
“…I’ve never seen anything
as strong or as stubborn,” he says.
And I think, how do you tame a wild tongue,
train it to be quiet,
how do you bridle it and saddle it?
How do you make it lie down?”
— Gloria Anzaldúa, “How to Tame a Wild Tongue,” from Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza
And you wait,
you wait for that one thing
that will infinitely enlarge your life;
the gigantic, the stupendous,
the awakening of stones,
depths turned round toward you.
-Rilke, “Memory,” trans. by Edward Snow