Men Say They Know Many Things

How I am feeling lately, described perfectly by Henry David Thoreau-

{Men say they know many things;
But lo! they have taken wings, —
The arts and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
The wind that blows
Is all that any body knows.}

Monkey in the Middle

I have been thinking about academia and science lately and have realized that research projects cannot be too detached from meaning, or they will not be funded or cared about, but on the other hand they cannot be too functional, too close to turning into a cure or a solution, or they will be seen as crass.

Academic research in science paralyzes you somewhere neatly between irrelevance and practicality—one cannot dare get too close to either one.

The Cleverest

Sometimes I feel like I am from another planet when it comes to successful social interaction. I just arrived on earth about 5 years ago and am feeling around in the dark, just trying to make sense of the complex, changeable abyss that is socializing with humans.

The other day it occurred to me that when you are talking to someone who presents a new idea for something, it is always the best practice to open up the possibilities further {thats great and you could also add a plastic tray that catches the runoff...} than to shut them down by saying {thats not going to work because...}.

This may seem simple, but I think that when people hear a silly sounding new idea they have a tendency to want to quash it, rather than run with it. Maybe its some kind of evolutionary competition-survivial of the cleverest-but its just really unbecoming.

A Poem With No Words

I was on the bus the other day,
riding up 5th Avenue.
It was day but it was dark.

I saw yellow leaves falling from the trees
at a curious rate.
The wind was blowing
and they were wet.

They fell slowly to the ground
and since the bus goes so slow
it seemed like the world
was slowing down.

The falling leaves were beautiful
they looked like poetry
but I knew I wouldnt have the
words.

Lost in Space

We went to visit what had been an artists old studio. Nothing had been touched since his death in 1945. It was filled with paints that dried in mid-movement, neatly stacked and well considered cigar boxes and amazing all encompasing space-very high ceilings and wide undivided rooms-it is no wonder that cathedrals were built so high so as to be closer to the gods, there is certainly something divine about large spaces- and there was much, much light that lit the textures of quietness as it fell through the one large and perfect window from the wooded, bucolic outdoors.

Among other many things we discussed as we left I said to Joe that “empty space is not necessarily wasted space” and I wished that we had the luxury of living that way. Maybe some day.

Quote of the Day

I found this quote and LOVED it deeply:

{Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once, beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something that needs our love.} -Rainer Maria Rilke

These Boots are Made for Talking

I wasnt feeling up to much last week, so naturally I thought that I needed a new pair of boots.

I went to the store and they had a shoe that actually fit me, never you mind that it had a 3+ inch heel and was cinnamon colored leather that goes with nothing I have. So I bought them, in haste, in illogical desperation and in hope that they would be what I needed to turn this life around into a perfect and neat story of success, stylishness, happiness and brilliance.

I put them on at home and showed Joe and he told me what I already knew but had pushed deep into my psyche. They were just too big on the calf and Joe said that I looked like Santa. I stood there looking foolish and feeling defeated. I cant buy ANYthing nice, there is always some kind of glitch or run or I get it home and they forgot to take the alarm tag off. I wanted to stomp around like a 3 year old but the neighbors would probably call the police, these puppies were large and powerful and stomping around would sound more like a Clydesdale.

I removed them and put them back in their large black box.

I returned the boots to the store later in the week and felt a weight lifted off of me. I wore my old boots yesterday and realized that they just need to be polished actually and then they will be just as perfect for me as they day I bought them. These boots I was happy and certain about, it was instant love, it was a love that lasted. Still, years later, they are pretty perfect style-wise for me, the heel is low and they make me worlds feel fancier than when I wear sneakers. So now I just have to find the polish, I know I have it here somewhere.