It is Halloween, a Monday, and I have the day off. I understand the aversion to one's typical beginning of the week, but I, personally, am not used to the idea of starting off the week with a pause in place of a step. I feel like I should take advantage of the fortuitous placement of Halloween and this Monday devoid of work. I have been entertaining the idea of going as Clark Kent. My hair likes to curl naturally in that way in the front. And, I have found that I can bumble around and be clumsy easily enough. Delightfully meta fiction: I would be dressing up as a character's form of dress up. Cool.
So, Thomas Stearns Eliot and I were getting reacquainted a bit this morning and I decided to do a sketch inspired by his work. When I say inspired, I mean that a few of the images draw heavily (nice way of saying they are basically those images) from his work. I may have too much free time. There is that Updike novel I just started. I could read that. Or, maybe, those Bakhtin essays. Proof Rock
Words, words, words: With the buildings drawn in haze and the streetlamps shake and are dripping wet, the collar of my shirt rolls up around my neck comfortingly. It's a different kind of warmth: one I've known before. The moisture allows my hair to keep off my face and I feel more attractive. It lies grounded in place instead of every which way. But it doesn't pull its weight across this divide in my mind. I have only this warmth as company. It assures me so far as I know my blood flows with certainty. The moist wind licks at my face and arms, shown bare from rolled up sleeves. And, I'm only able to squint at where I'm going. Where am I going?
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