Samuel Scoville: Warren Wilson's Got Talent

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Warren Wilson's Got Talent

Warren Wilson’s Got Talent

Virginia played the harmonica for us
on the President’s driveway one
August evening before school
started up again and again
deja view..

Let me advise you:

“HARMONICA” is sibling to “art”
springing from I.E. ar “to fit together”
joint
juncture
order
ratio
riddle – all kin, relative, related. as is

“ARTICULATE” – a butcher's term
meaning to separate and flay the beast
neatly at the joints, junctures, skeletal
cross roads so to speak, with minimum
blood and gristle.

General Education

Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art
Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art
Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art
Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art Art

The art of thinking is drawing distinctions.
The art of academics is arguing them out.
The art of Liberal Art is relating them:
relativity. All in the family.

Need we argue?
I wish we could.
Always begging to differ.

xxxooo, Presbyter

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I choose, as a determining POINT in my life, to acknowledge a bullet fired into the armpit of my grandfather, Samuel Scoville, Jr. by a thief in the night sometime in the late 19^thc.

The thief escaped, my grandfather having pulled his own pistol from beneath the pillow, squeezing off a couple of rounds and sending the burglar scurrying into the Connecticut night...

For reasons of family notoriety, the incident was reported in both New York and Philadelphia papers. A former roommate in Philly called up Young Goodman Sam, inviting him down for a weekend gala: The Yale-Penn Football game. “You can take my sister Katherine, and chaperone me and my fiancé, he said.

In those days couples were not advised to be alone. Unaccompanied.

Sam took a steam-driven locomotive train down to Philadelphia, escorted Katherine to the leather-helmet contest, fell in love, asked her to marry him. She did & they lived more or less HAP-ily ever after, generating a tribe of offspring who like wise generated in kind so that if it hadn’t of been for that bullet, well, it’s impossible to begin to consider how unimaginably different life-as-we-know-it would have been. No one can say.

For one thing: YOU, dear Reader, wouldn’t be reading THIS HERE right now, resurrecting these words to walk around in your skull-haus this very be-here-now moment. So even you are impacted forever by that bullet.

(I could drive up to Connecticut right now, retrieve the small bite of lead, drop it in your hand and remind you how co-incidental our life is—how inexplicable, how arbitrary & selective our accounts, how much we omit which is also absolutely necessary, how inadequate our because & affects.)

The bullet is a NECESSARY but INSUFFICIENT cause of who-I-am, without which any explanation would be incomplete. Sam Scoville

Samuel Scoville