Monday, November 8, 2010

I'll have some more of what I'm having

Someone you like, perhaps even to the point of admiration, approaches you.  "Surely,"  the person exudes, for this is no longer the neutrality of that wonderful, useful verb "said."  This goes beyond said to exudes; the individual sends forth enthusiasm and presence as though those qualities were pheromones, instigating further contact and exchange.

And yet.

The moment is not sexual, is not meant to be that kind of attraction.  The focus at hand is shared experience and the added sharing of response to the experience, which appears to undercut the argument for its non-sexual nature, doesn't it?  For your part, however, you want sexual encounters to be confined to the enthusiasms of one-on-one.  This "Surely," can be conducted in public or at least in the midst of a group of disinterested others; this "surely,"can be between you and a man or a woman with equal ease and enthusiasm; it can be an exchange that sets or removes boundaries as either of you sees fit.

"Surely you have read (or seen or experienced) a work that is filled in at the moment."  Whether or not you have seen or read or otherwise experienced, there is an exchange that makes you wish to re-experience the object in question now that you have this other person's enthusiasm.  (Still sounds sexual, doesn't it, what with the enthusiasm and commentary being metaphor for bodily fluids and other grand spinal and cranial sensations?)  This may explain why although you do not act on such things as you once might have, you are drawn to men and women who are enthusiastic in their responses more than you are to individuals who are, for instance, acerbic or denigrating or overly critical to the point of having missed transmitting their impression of the intent they saw in the work.  (All right, so it is a kind of sexuality, which is no surprising given your own enthusiastic reaction to sexuality.)

What to embrace and what to avoid--two ways of looking at the world about you, including your own visions and the visions of others as they relate to things, places, and individuals who are no longer living but who have left some grain of impression upon we who live now--and react.

There was a time when you were daunted by libraries, particularly the first ones you had repeat experiences with.  Those early experiences were humbling because of your impression that in order to have any say in what happened to you in life, you needed to have read ALL those books.  Indeed, at that time, you were so indiscriminate that you believed you had to read books (and listen to people and see performances and look at works of art) that you didn't like because who were you not to like them or the truth that inhered in each.  Shortly after you discovered the magic and miracle of girls and then women, you understood better that some books and performances and works of art held no particular truth you could recognize much less would want to recognize.  The miracle of the specific became uppermost, growing on you much as your height grew upon you, catapulting you from the dreariness of 5'7 to 5'9 then, unh, just made it to six, then, in a mighty surge, to six three.

So long as you continue doing so, it is sufficient to read the books you will read, not read the books you have no interest in (until someone you find interesting or admirable causes you to have an interest), not like the persons you don't like, not out of meanness of spirit or feud or even bigotry but rather because you have no real reason to like them.

It is dazzling to like the books you like, to relish the music you relish, to enjoy the plays and films you can open the psyche to; these things and such accouterments as flowers and food and poetry and the stark colors of the southwest and the sensuous feel of Navajo fry bread in your tummy, although no friend to a cholesterol index, cause you enthusiasm, which is quite sexual which, after all, defines the kind of being you are, and is no elephant in the living room or anywhere else in the confines of 652 Hot Springs Road.

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