Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Follies of a comfy night

I suppose I'm alone in this problem, but it recurs and has begun to affect my waking thoughts. I find I can get too comfortable to read. At first, of course, I chalked this up to the quality of the print. Then I thought, no, this is happening with articulate fonts, and on good paper. Next, I blamed the footnotes, so I switched to fiction; then I blamed the plod of plotting, so I switched to poetry; then I blamed the abstraction, so I switched to politics; then I blamed the self-interest, so I switched to philosophy; then I blamed the discursiveness, so I switched to portraiture; but then I couldn't blame anything, and so I couldn't sleep.


  1. And then can not blame for making love...

  2. I don't know an occasion for blaming that, but why not count the ways: making educated, making honest, making fair, making free from misconstructions of all kinds. These predicates of the emotional happiness you propose are very much also not to be blamed; yes?

  3. Garçons ParfaitMay 4, 2011 at 10:01 AM

    Thanks for the messages / reblog. :)

  4. The selection seemed to suit the argument at the time :) ..

  5. This is interesting... Maybe not at the point of blaming, or not sleeping, but I happen to escape from my daily life and look for a certain expression which relates to a very specific need... poetry, fiction, novels, politics, ...

    well, i just wanted to say, I like the post.. It makes me think about the way I react too... So I'll take the time and maybe comment again sometime hihi.

  6. Thanks, Joss, I've written before about wandering about in my library in some vague aspiration to be told a story; I'm pretty sure I didn't develop the experience very fully and I look forward to revisiting it. "A certain expression which relates to a very specific need" is also a familiar search and I thank you for bringing it up that way.

    Here, "blame" is not used in the morally drastic sense, but more neutrally and (evidently unsuccessfully) in mild humour. Thank you for expanding what interest there may be in this posting, so harmoniously. I hope you will consider presenting any further thought in this pleasant matter.

  7. Ah you're bringing what I meant with "some vague aspiration to be told a story"...
    This is exactly the feeling I have for two weeks now, and I still have not found what I am hungry of.
    Almost every day, I go to the library, ..
    I am looking for some tenderness, springing love, harmonious state of mind, blossoming sweetness of the heart, a deep and strong passion of life and youth, with a little bit of wildness of wildness of the soul. All that in some Poetry...

    I was thinking Paul Verlaine, then maybe Rimbaud, or Victor Hugo, ... but still, I am lost, and cannot detect the answer to this strange query I have deep inside...

    It is almost the way I am used to reacting with the changing season... And I am used to responding very quickly and righteously.

    and to this non-answer, I tend not to feel like doing anything until then... Almost like the way anyone feels when they are in love...