Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
It occurs to me (well after the point at which it should have) that my introduction to Emily Dickinson was with the 'fixed' versions of her poems, and that this may have had something to do with (in my eyes) her lameness - although I can think of plenty of other reasons I may have once thought the same of her. (Just the musty nineteenth-century air would probably be sufficient, though.)
'women have always fussed with their hair'
'Paul Revere' is a terrible party song.
I said I wanted to write more about depression (see here, here, and here, for example), but between not being able to write, and not knowing how to extract anything significant from my grayer days, little has happened.
I often think about a pact of some sort, I think because I want someone to be accountable to, but also because I want someone to compete against. I am not sure how that might be compatible with accountability; it seems to make things harder. Or maybe it just makes it harder to find someone.
If you can bring nothing to this place
but your carcass, keep out.
Tonight Geoff and I were taken hold of by a Twista video as we waited for more of the shots of the mostly superfluous curly-red-haired violin playing girl. It's starting to get so that I become glued to the screen every time I come across the video.
Also, Geoff aptly pegged her not as some music major finally making some cash with her education, as I first thought, but better: as a Russian immigrant b-girl. (!)
Personally I think maybe there should be more u's there. Maybe some n's too.
The other day at the lesbian coffeeshop the cute girl* behind the counter was playing hip-hop and singing along to all the choruses and backup vocals; she had a nice voice, and there were like four 'soulful' songs in a row (including Kanye producing Kanye and Kanye producing Twista) that lent themselves to singing along. But then Bone Crusher came on, and he was barely done with his first line (and I quote verbatim from the archive: 'So I'm outside of da club and you think I'm a puuuuuuuunk') before she changed it to a Motown comp or something.
(*: whoever it is, she's always cute if she's playing hip-hop)
Chain-thinkers. - To him who has thought a great deal every new thought he hears or reads at once appears in the form of a link in a chain.
(Notice that he doesn't say whether this is a blessing or a curse, or when it might be one rather than the other.)