Holding hands in the Museum
Turn around upon hearing their tones shift
into the nasal register
reserved for,"I like it, but it seems...
self-conscious,
pretentious,
derivative."
Go back and turn left
into the baroque flowery, thick and caky
and colors where you've never seen them.
Gratuitous purple clouds.
Tighten your grip when your breath leaves
but you still need a way to say
"oh, pretty!"
And leave it at that.
Ignore compositional elements
and dart past Picassos
for no reason.
Don't forget to leave before sunset.
A chance to remember that c'est ne pas une vie.
Poem:
I am sure I'm not alone in my dislike for people who wander around museums sure they are privy to exactly what the artist meant by including a pig in the background or whatever it is they see when they get up to within a few inches of the painting and mumble to their companion that "this is true mastery." So when I walk through a museum, I'm in favor of sprinting away (etiquette be darned) at the faintest hint of a snobbish critic. And as soon as I catch myself thinking in terms other than "oooooh," "aaaahhhhh," and "ewwww," I know it's time to leave, that I've been infected by the art crowd. It's a shame you have to go to the museum to see the real thing, and that it costs money to get in. I'm hardly up for spending six hours looking at paintings, but it's not like I can walk down the street to my library and rent them one at time. So I have to get my money's worth, cramming a whole year of artistic appreciation into a couple days.
Observation:
The origin of the word oblivion in based upon the idea of forgetting. So when a movie villain says the hero (or earth) will be obliviated, they are threatening them with much more than mere destruction. To be lost from history, to be forgotten completely, that is the threat of the word. Oblivion is worse than the nothingness I thought it was. It's the absence of recollection. When great people of history acted, it was to be remembered. Achilles, given the option of a happy life or a memorable death, chose the latter. Because when you think about it, there's a lot more time that you're not on this world than otherwise, and even today, three thousand years later, we know who Achilles was. We say all men are created equal, and we my even believe it, but it's sure that not all men are remembered equal. The kid shining Achilles shield is worth just as much to us in theory as Achilles. If they were both tried for murder, they'd get the same sentence, for instance, but nobody is going to know his name. And that's the threat of oblivion.
Exercise:
Anthony Doerr's story, "The Shell Seeker" is written from very close to the point of view of a blind scientist. There are almost no visual cues in the story, yet the reader is awash in the details of sense, and the tropical setting is almost palpable. Describe a scene without using visual cues.
John's footsteps sounded too loud. He wasn't used to inflexible soles, and the two-part echo they made on the cement stuck out to him, though nobody else commented. Why should they? Everyone's dress shoes probably sounded like that. Had they noticed him in his rough, ill-fitting suit and not heard the ta-tok of stiffness with his step, they may even have wondered at its absence, though perhaps not consciously. Maybe a subtle premonition that something was wrong. A bit off. At least it was cold. John couldn't abide suits in warm weather, especially this one, which bunched at the shoulder and felt a bit too long at the cuffs, though the fitter had assured him it was pristine. The wind had forced his hands into his pockets, where he absent-mindedly fiddled with his ticket, the paper softening gradually with each pass of his fingers.
Me:
I'm playing handball five days a week now, which has caused my perpetual shoulder pain to flare up a bit. It's too much fun to stop though, and the players in Des Moines are fun to play with. I'm a member at the YMCA in Des Moines now. They gave me a scanny-card-thingy and everything. And I have a tournament coming up this weekend. All of this is very distracting when it comes to biking. It's particularly difficult because I'm good at handball NOW, while the biking is still only a potentiality. I can do better with my scheduling though. And update here more, too. Turns out I'm lazy. Drat.
Insert segue here
You know how some people's moms set them up on dates against their wishes? Well, I've heard it happens, and I've seen it in the movies. The moms are always so sure their kids are well-for the person they set them up with. They're a good match. Well, I'm glad my mom doesn't do that. What she does do is set me up with food. Its a very similar situation. She asks me if I need any groceries, and usually I have one or two things I need. So I ask for a gallon of milk or some bananas, and my mom takes this to mean I really wanted milk or bananas as well as chocolate, cookies, crackers, and lots of other treats. And she's sneaky about it too. For instance, the last time this happened my parents were picking me up to take me somewhere, and just dropped off some items quickly. I put the box inside without looking at it, only to come home later and realize I had been had. Sometimes I am able to give back items I didn't request, but she sneaks them in somehow.