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.
On the bus, in the morning, an old woman had a long conversation with the couple sitting next to her. Their names were Virginia and Cleveland.
There is a joke in there somewhere.
'I can't wait until I'm old enough to feel ways about stuff.'
The more I listen to 'New San Antonio Rose', the more I wonder what I'm missing out on by not knowing what's new about it.
First thoughts upon waking up this morning: Frank Sobotka working a shift on someone else's union card, Frank Sobotka turning up in the harbor.
No significant thoughts followed - just a feeling of unease.
'mock mockers after that'
'At the same time, another force prowls the edge of the field, bitterly observing that a table is that which supports a meal, a text one is reading, and the lamp one reads it by; that people have been born, have fucked, and have been laid out to die on tables; and that this observation makes the very use of the example appear silly, and the contention of the two schools seems as frighteningly frivolous as a formal tea party going on while the enemy mines the garden and the servants sell the house itself, piece by piece.'
'every work of art is an uncommitted crime'