"I write because I so deeply want to speak. Though writing only gives me the full measure of silence...." Clarice Lispector
-Where we come from, renewal is a constant possibility. The palm tree sheds her fronds whenever she wants to; not when the calendar says so.
-Where we come from, the grass is wide, waxy, and unapologetic; it stands in regular conversation with the ocean.
-Where we come from, the grapefruit tree grows thorns so strong and proud they look like branches. She invites you to climb them like stairs.
-Where we come from, it is impossible to know when the night will smell like jasmines or salt or both; it urges you to pay attention.
-Where we come from, still fish live for a long time at the bottom of the ocean.
-Where we come the rain falls thick and hard; it roars, demands applause, baptizes at will.
-Where we come from, the squirrel hides nothing; it eats mangoes in the summer and tangerines in winter.
-Where we come from, even the roaches fly.
Hearing young voices sing everything from Bernard Ighner's Everything Must Change to opera; leafing through Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum's Ms. Hempel Chronicles; and stumbling upon many things Saunders.
His many google-able quotes:
It seems to me a worthy goal: try to create a representation of consciousness that's durable and truthful, i.e., that accounts, somewhat, for all the strange, tiny, hard-to-articulate, instantaneous, unwilled things that actually go on in our minds in the course of a given day, or even a given moment.
" ...Ali was born in Miami."
I only became acquainted with this incredible figure through the vision of Shaneeka Harrell as she developed From the Corner of Cassius Clay, An Experience of Me, Miami and Ali
I was and am deeply moved by this incredible outpouring in his honor.
Nit picking, an expression whose etymology always felt familiar, but never close. I know and love many perfectionists. I have admired their passionate commitment to every detail and recoiled at the ease with which they judge.
Now, it is my son, me, and these tiny cemented lice-to-be vessels. Here I understand for the first time the intimacy of this dynamic. Together we pause as I pull these minuscule objects out of his hair one by one under the light of an October sun. We smile and bid farewell to each invader.
Diligence becomes a new word we share.
I feel a renewed gratitude for all those nit pickers I love so much.