BOSS
Xanthippe rightfully throws a thunderpot full
of night soil and micturation over the shoulders
of Socrates sitting monk-like in ruminative
contemplation wasting time, watching the tide
roll away.
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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 19thc.
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
For reasons of family notoriety, the incident was reported in both
In those days couples were not advised to be alone. Unaccompanied.
Sam took a steam-driven locomotive train down to
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
Socrates, oh my, Socrates--i used to say I was Plato to your Socrates till I figured Plato made ol' Socrates up outta thin air. I didn't make you, that I'm sure of. "I know that I don't know" your reasons why you do what you do cause you the type that like to keep myn going in circles--a round and round we go. Maybe you're full of circles--circles inside circles, never ending babble--freakin' tower builder. Yours'll be knocked down soon with the boom from on high, least that's how the last tower story went, but maybe you're a different story only Lord knows. Look: I'm babbling myself babbling about your babbling. Look, what I came to say was this: _________. But I ended up saying all this here. Socrates, oh my, Socrates, how you've damaged me--damned me to a life of written babble. Thanks, you ol' hemlock drinker.
ReplyDeleteDon't you love that picture? Xanthippe was a bitch, that was because Socrates was a head-in- the clouds nerd. Going round & round in converse action is spiraling up toward maybe an emergent insight. Good to do--but not if folks are in a rush, or got to get r done Most are, which is why the shit flies.
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