Why does bacon sizzle

 "We don't have a theory of something being easy to do or of things going according to plan, things working out. Theory means something is difficult."

            "I wonder why bacon sizzles in the pan. What is it that's vibrating? I understand why the drum head vibrates and moves the air inside, but not the bacon." 

                            "There is a theory of poetic language, it might be wrong or right, but there is a theory of it, or several. But we have no theory of language not being poetic, the absence of whatever that is that is 'poetic."

                            "Why do we need that? We only need to know about the difficult cases, like the bacon. I literally do not know why it sizzles, yet it seems dumb to ask. When we understand, we move on, or so I'd thought."

                    "That what I'm saying, we have it wrong. Easiness is difficult to understand. We don't know how those easy things occur."

               

You're boring

 I saw a video where they asked some tennis players what the most interesting thing about them was. These were the top people, like Nadal.  They couldn't come up with anything. It's because they are famous for one thing, being able to to hit a tennis ball with a tennis racket, and I guess running to get to the next ball they have to hit. Without that, you wouldn't know who they are in the first place. They aren't interesting; they didn't go to college, or if they did, they went to play tennis. Their outside interests aren't likely to be very well developed either. 

Maybe being interesting, then, is a bit overrated.  That single-minded passion of hitting a ball with a stick or club might be enough.  The other stuff, even if interesting, seems like a self-indulgence.  

FU

 I'm eager to see if fancy university who recruited me to apply last year hired anyone for the position. So far, their web site doesn't have anyone new. Senior searches often are not successful; people have a hard time deciding on candidates, or the person chosen does not choose to accept.  I guess I'll feel semi-vindicated if they end up with nobody at all.  

Favorite word

Chopin waltz abandoned on music stand

until it is not: I return to it. I wonder why

my fingers feel free playing "Bemsha Swing" but not 

Chopin.  

            If you ask someone their favorite word

they will say love, not their favorite word 

at all (if you ask me) but some pet idea; 

they will never say naif or another

word quirky or fun to pronounce. 

The same with sentences, they will 

offer you a sentence that they endorse

but not one that has an interesting ring to it

like Beckett's "Je dors peu, et le peu que je dors,

je le dors le jour."

                                The idea that

if you could just adopt the proper attitude

toward everything, find not just terminology

but the right tone of voice to say those words,

that would settle things. Tweak your damn verbiage 

and you'll do fine! 

                    A recitation of a poem 

is a musical performance, I read in a book on

Arabic Poetics. If so, what bad musicians you are,

poets and literary critics, actors.  

***

Zen cured my earworm: there are still tunes

rattling around in the rafters, but they aren't

bothersome. Anxiety, too,

is just a normal emotion waxing 

and waning. An anxiety

disorder is just giving too much importance to these

ebbs and flows. Is insomnia just

the fear of insomnia? Nothing in itself?  

The relief at falling asleep can only be felt 

on waking up, refreshed,

if even then: often the waking will be groggy. 

Often, I'll only know I've slept

if I have also dreamt. That is my measuring rod. 

***  

I think of the absurdly detailed instruction manual

for the new water bottle, in several languages. My instruction

would be "fill, drink."  

***

Why does prosaic mean dull? Where does my fear

of "flat" language come from? Why does bacon

sizzle in the pan? 

***

I don't like those little "lyrical moments" but often I have wondered

why bacon sizzles in the pan. What is vibrating, exactly? I understand 

the vibrating drum head, how it moves the air, but not

the bacon, yet it seems dumb to ask.   

                                        I wonder

why I don't like most poetry I read. I wait for packages to arrive,

books I've ordered myself. Many are disappointments,

nobody's fault.

                My observational skills aren't great,

I've noticed. I don't have little epiphany puffs

just sometimes a funny phrase will pop into my head.   

        

  

Waltz

Chopin waltz abandoned on music stand

until it is not: I return to it. I wonder why

my fingers feel free playing "Bemsha Swing" but not 

Chopin.  

        Sound of Wave in Channel by Stephen Ratcliffe 

arrives today. Package left outside a door I rarely use

but they send me photo of this half-assed delivery

and I go down and get the package, on top of someone's 

delivery of tissues:

 

 

 

Gibson

Ian Gibson resumes his attack on the Lorca family. He calls Laura García Lorca "Laura García de los Ríos," not the name she has always used, and pleads with her to tell us where the poet is buried, evoking the specter of the far right, as though they would gain more votes somehow if his side in the controversy does not prevail. He resurrects theory that the family conspired with Franco to exhume the body and bury it somewhere else. Supposedly, they know where Lorca is, then. There is no evidence for this theory; it's just sort of word-of-mouth gossip, so I'm not buying into it. I don't think even Gibson believes; he just wants to continue the feud with the Lorcas. 

Using the wrong name is not "passive aggressive," as I first wanted to write, but aggressive aggressive. Laura's mother was Laura de los Ríos, daughter of Fernando de los Ríos, so by conventional naming rules she would be "Laura García de los Ríos," but she has always chosen to be García Lorca.   

EARWORM

Zen cured my earworm: there are still tunes

rattling around in the rafters, but they aren't

bothersome. Anxiety, too,

is just a normal emotion waxing 

and waning. An anxiety

disorder is just giving too much importance to these

ebbs and flows. Is insomnia just

the fear of insomnia? Nothing in itself?  

Why does prosaic mean dull? Where does my fear

of "flat" language come from? Why does bacon

sizzle in the pan?