How many times did I read that book to my kids? And how many times will I push the wrong button and erase half of what I just wrote? Will I never learn to use this laptop?
This is a perfect day weather-wise. I'd like to order 3 more months of today, please.
Ah, Bernie Madoff, I blame him for the state of the economy for the whole country, the greedy bastard. He fooled them all, didn't he? Rich and poor, savvy and not so, he just sucked up their money and savings, and now their self respect, and just ground it up in his personal little gimme factory. And his wife wanted to keep "her money. There's one woman who left the bleach on her hair a bit too long.
July 7--Auguste Rodin, The Thinker. It's hard to think of what to write sometimes. Images flash through so fast I can't grab one and stick it to the page. Even if my body is still, my mind keeps racing. Even if I focus and try to slow down the racing in my head, they're still moving faster than I can catch them. Sometimes silence brings ideas but not always. Sometimes it's a word or a phrase or an aroma that pushes a picture to the front of my mind. I want to command it. I want it to arrive at my behest, show up when I need it to, mold itself to my every whim. I think it would be cold sitting bare ass on a rock, holding still while an artist draws your picture. Maybe Rodin had a nice soft cushion for his model to perch on and just imagined the rock. Yeah, that must be it. It also could explain why the guy in the sculpture is frowning. He's thinking about how cold he is sitting naked in a drafty studio while some artist draws him, a famous artist, but still. Maybe he's thinking about what he'll have for supper. That's probably it. Most of us think small thoughts most of the time, not big, important, deep thought like we imagine we should.
Random.
--Barbara
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