(Author's note: This post was supposed to up after the other Blogjam piece. I was gobsmacked by the photo, so I ran that instead. It's all cut from the same cloth, though, so hang with me...because I don't want to hang by myself!)
I apologize, dear ones, for the interruption in my Winter Poetry Slam, but a Muse of a different sort has taken the reins, and I cannot still my tongue.
'Zounds, I must be channeling an Elizabethan libertine.
Not really. But I cannot escape this fascination with formal language, even when I want or need to swear. And I need to swear a lot. Or I think I need to swear a lot. Feckin' language...
Yestereve, I wrote of the unbloggable. Judas Priest, is that even a word? Does it matter? Do you care? I'm not sure I do. I suppose I should. After all, I am the Great Pretender when it comes to language and the written word. The basic problem is that I loathed the study of English when I was a younger Gumbo, enmeshed in the tentacles of 'Publick Education, for the bettrement for the younge minds of our Society'...
I hated rules, I guess, even though you have to know what the rules are before you can break them. I guess I felt in my heart, although I had not the courage to say so, that I did not want to follow rules.
So, where was I? Oh, yes, unbloggable. Things are still at that point. To borrow from the military, the situation on the ground remains the same. The difference tonight, dear readers, is that I have had an adjustment in perspective, courtesy of some friends and their lives, topped off with a good libation.
Does this solve their/my immediate problems? No, of course not. What it does do is bring me up short, pulls me back from the precipice, and gives me some time to catch my breath. Every time I have the good fortune to have someone share with me that which makes them human, I am by turns mystified and gratified. I have not often felt that I am human enough to truly "get" other people, but this state of affairs has become increasingly rare as of late. For that I am also grateful.
Was it Woody Allen who said that "90% of life is just showing up"? Much truth in that. I have become increasingly interested in it as of late. It helps me feel human. It helps me understand people, something at which I have never excelled, at least in an emotional sense.
Am I making sense? I hope so. Even if I am not, I hope you find this of value. After all, what I write here, in this state of unbloggability, is nothing less than an honest attempt to confirm my membership in the human race. Whether I like it or not, that is something I want and need. It is a major motivation for me to keep this blog alive.
I apologize for being so obtuse and elliptical. This fullness of heart is new, strange and wonderful for me. Eventually, my big head will get itself around the idea that I am okay with the notion of being...human.
stuff happens,and happens and happens.
ReplyDeleteYour big head WILL; welcome to the human family! Your honesty gives us all permission to be fully human and honest.
ReplyDeletexxxoooo
Life gets in the way of blogging. That is a good thing I think.
ReplyDeleteThey tell me that being human isn't all it's cracked up to be. I wouldn't know. But, then, I don't know who they are, they just whisper to me from inside my head.
ReplyDeleteit's a brave new world, Bernard.
ReplyDeleteYou do make sense, and I get it. Life happens. Embrace it, enjoy it and challenge it. Most importantly, feel it.
ReplyDeleteCheers.
Velva
Whoa, I get back from Hawaii, and you're all obtuse and elliptical. And making up words! Heh.
ReplyDeleteBtw, I've been assigned to write a piece on your blog which I'm publishing tomorrow, which I may call: "Irish Gumbo: It's Not Just For Breakfast Anymore."
I KID! Seriously. Dude. I love you. In a Captain-Dumbass-with-a-zombified-Barry-White-voice kind of way. Wait. What were we talking about?