The very question points to the source of misery.  the minute you try to put an age on something you are fixing it in place, defining it, locking it down.   If something has an age, it implies it’s something.  It’s a convenience, a convention, to assign an age.

How old is “I”

My father dreamed of Genie with the Light Brown Hair.  Should I start counting when he first sang that song?    My mother envisioned a child with big brown eyes looking out of the crib.  Was it then that I was born?  Or when they were born?  Or when my grandmother told my mother, 15 and valedictorian, No you can’t accept your scholarship. Was I born then, when she met my father in an office?  Or when my brother was born and so I became a person with a brother.  Or when my mother ate pot roast?  Or maybe JFK had a cold and didn’t need to fly anywhere so my father was home on leave, so they happened to have sex.  Was I born when he put in his leave slip?

How old is the horse?  not counting gestation, like the first floor in a French building.

How old is day-old bread?  Do you start counting when the wheat was planted? When the baker first folded flour into water?  The bread’s age is counted at the moment it comes out of the oven, when the ingredients coalesce into what we recognize as the thing. When the constituent parts are still that, the meter isn’t yet running.

What else?   How old is Old English?  Still alive here

Old Navy?  Old Navy is brand new.

old world, old school, old money, old testament, old hat, old boy, old town, *Spice, *Ironsides, *Faithful, *Yeller

Age = consciousness.  but carbon dating/and those organisms at the sulfur vents

Anyway:     What is possible today?

Riding my bike to mark’s at 4:30; going to erik’s opening?

++++++++++++++++

9/9/05

Spent the first 20 minutes setting up the phone.  A not altogether satisfying task.  This phone feels substandard.  Foggy volume. Rode back home over the Brooklyn bridge yesterday.  I loved the feeling of sailing along.  And I love the way that each time I do it that’s one fewer subway ride I’m taking.  Lots of danger of course.  That’s the first thing people say to you.

J:  “my friend david got killed at 66th and lex (or somewhere like that) and I’ve never gotten past that.” That’s the extreme position.  You could foreclose on any activity with that mindset.   I think it’s a matter of choosing wisely when and where and also of not giving into my tendency to let my guard down.  And also to just let it happen slowly instead of thinking I have to be going at the pace of everyone else.   It was so gorgeous to look out over the water.  Even just staying in contact with water is a big thing.

I want to see what it’s like to ride out to Coney Island.  Looks like there’s a greenway all the way there.  That sounds promising, and you can always hop on the subway for part of it.

Yesterday Marie came over and we read from Moby Dick. Fast fish and loose fish.  A fast fish held by a cobweb.  Melville makes the case that most things can be determined by this law of whaling.

10/8/05, 8 a.m.

This morning, I’m going to do a variation.  20 min. writing, 40 minutes whatever else.  I’d like longer chunks of time to concentrate on the other stuff.  till noon. then, we’ll see.  It’s raining hard and steady.

Thinking about Hanneline’s virtuosity last night.   And how with weather we don’t stand back from it and say, That thunderstorm is so well done, we just know it’s a thunderstorm.  How the raindrops are each perfect, how water, left to its own devices finds the sphere.  So each raindrop we can explore its own perfections, but we feel the mass of them.  In her work, there’s nowhere your eye can rest, or rather, there’s nowhere the eye gets tripped up by something that feels alien to the work.

In one piece, the seam, the “unfinished” part feels related to how she was saying she feels deficient in every area, when she’s at the studio, she wants to be with Sunniva, when she’s with Sunniva, at work, at work, in the studio.

///what if when we felt like that we could shift all that one over? ///

I’m tired of having these little tasks that lie around unaddressed, creating a drag. I’ll do them another time, always the background expectation, but another time is never created.  Allowed.  We have to allow ourselves longer blocks of time for annoying things.  Some are annoying in relation to the time they’re allotted.  the main experience of annoyance comes from the crunched feeling.  I don’t believe the constant rush is completely out of our control.  It just involves stopping for a moment and interrogating the next thing you’re rushing toward, or from.

It’s easy for this to become perfectionism.