His mind resembles an ancient Greek papyrus. It is spotted and stained with old wine spills. Holes have been burnt, corners charred by the flame of certain searing events. Pieces have molded with damp misuse, collapsing into a leprosy of paper flakes each with less than a word. Insects have gnawed at the edges. Gaps. Lacunae. Often it is the essential piece that is missing. The subject of the sentence, the object of the verb. What are left are modifiers that modify nothing, subjects without actions, actions that act on nothing. He remembers a pattern, a direction, a gist, but teeters perilously at the edges of the absences, the unbridged abysses.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Cool morning. Autumn in the air. Time to get the grass seed on the lawn. I started the appendix on Access. I have recreated the database from the book. Next I have to test the SQL statements. I also worked on a short story called Brize Marine after a poem by Mallarme. It is an old story, but I am reworking it, trying to make it more in my current voice. Here is a paragraph from the story: