Without Lifting A Finger

Peeting, reading (Bernhard), playing with a nonsense line on Schleiermacher. When I thumbed through my Kindle Library it was not-so-surprisingly bare re S. I did find a slender sampling of the German Romantics, however, and I latched on to this bit (gleaned from the little I read on an essay about them, written by _________________), which became my mantra for the morning's walk: And reality is not as transparent as the Enlightenment assumed it to be; existence divided by reason leaves a remainder, as Goethe had put it. 

The photographer said the pilot said nothing about it. But if he'd gotten much closer they would've been lunching at Curry Village (old names die hard). *   By Photographer X 

Sure the clouds were gray to black, but this is Southern California. I stopped under a big leafy tree to wait it out (the first significant rain of the season?), took a few pics, and then hoofed it home with a little protection (windbreaker more than raincoat -- but hooded). The ducks were beelining it to the bank for cover, a leaf  (hanging on a thread or caught in the wind?) took forever to fall. *                   

Not sure what you'd call it. Bit darker than her last outing. Something about family, playing cards (Euchre, Horse), growing up, loss, home, home away from home, homelessness, memory, wounds, disappointment, grappling with the complexity of the world (world = age of humankind), ... *                                                                     

HCE Review is "an online literary journal published through the Creative Writing programmes at University College Dublin." My poem -- "Munising: Musing" -- is in the current issue (Volume I, Issue VI, p. 34).



The artificial world produced the artificial human being, and conversely the artificial human being produced the artificial world. Nothing is natural any longer, I said. We start from the premise that everything is natural, but that’s a fallacy. Everything is artificial, everything is artifice. Nature no longer exists. We always start from the contemplation of nature, when for ages we should have been starting from the contemplation of artifice. That’s why everything’s so chaotic. So false. So desperately confused. Where there’s no nature there can be no contemplation of nature, Gambetti—that must be obvious.