The sun is back in Maine, like an old lion prowling for meat to burn.
I know frustration. I know the spooling away of the smallest thread of one’s life until it’s all just a pattern. But can frustration help to fuel extravagant and visionary imagination?
“To the depths of the unknown,” wrote Baudelaire.
Some days I wish I just raised chickens, felled trees, broke ice in the bucket, chopped wood for the stove, and went out in the evening in fine threads.
Where are the little dells and corners of paradise?
“We fear all things as mortals, and we desire all things as if we were immortal.”
Life’s not a dream. I can prove it! All you have to do is take the quantum pulse of my atomic level to see that I can be both a particle of hope and a little light of luck.
Reality is nothing but the remainder of our lives.
“The short story is not minimalist, it is rococo.” Angela Carter.
The past is dead but alive in us. The moment is forever vibrating. And the future is knowing where to begin and when to end.
If I didn’t imagine, I might as well elope with an amoeba.
But I’m practical, too. And honest. And hardworking. And I understand the Cocteau Twins’ lyrics.
Here’s “Born of Frustration” by Manchester band James.