As a child, I dreamed of being a lighthouse keeper when I grew up. The thought of being being alone for months at a time, living in a cool round tower surrounded by the waves and the sea creatures and the birds, and no human in sight was my idea of bliss. I wouldn't be diagnosed for another half century. I still love lighthouses and have to be content with pictures of them on my walls instead. I guess most lighthouses are controlled remotely these days.
It can be a blessing to be able to simply live in the moment, and not think about what follows. I can rarely do that, at least as an adult.
Did you ever find out why your grandfather was so interested in Mein Kampf? I've read it myself, but it's certainly not a book I'd obsess over or even particularly care to re-read.
My friend, i'm going to write you a private note in the morning with some background. I'd rather leave the ambiguity hanging in the air for other readers. Explaining a poem can kill the piece. Like explaining a joke... Only worse.
But I will fill you in privately. But input this detail first and prominent for a reason.
What did you feel?
We talked once as I remember. Readers are the ones who create art. If there's art at all. It's what happens in your heart and mind. What happens in mine? Not so much.
I'll have to encapsulate my various responses to this story and performance in one insufficient word: beautiful. OK, another word: touching. It resonates with me. Profound while seeming simple. It's stirring, as in, it's inviting feelings that are still a bit mixed up, not sorted out - stirred up. You got a lot done in one short short story. Thank you.
I have poor forms of some memory. I can never write the same thought twice. At least not reliably. I couldn't remember well enough to try and recreate it. Lol. But that was my honest feeling. Being seen.
As a child, I dreamed of being a lighthouse keeper when I grew up. The thought of being being alone for months at a time, living in a cool round tower surrounded by the waves and the sea creatures and the birds, and no human in sight was my idea of bliss. I wouldn't be diagnosed for another half century. I still love lighthouses and have to be content with pictures of them on my walls instead. I guess most lighthouses are controlled remotely these days.
What a beautiful, complementary memory. Thank you for that.
It can be a blessing to be able to simply live in the moment, and not think about what follows. I can rarely do that, at least as an adult.
Did you ever find out why your grandfather was so interested in Mein Kampf? I've read it myself, but it's certainly not a book I'd obsess over or even particularly care to re-read.
My friend, i'm going to write you a private note in the morning with some background. I'd rather leave the ambiguity hanging in the air for other readers. Explaining a poem can kill the piece. Like explaining a joke... Only worse.
But I will fill you in privately. But input this detail first and prominent for a reason.
What did you feel?
We talked once as I remember. Readers are the ones who create art. If there's art at all. It's what happens in your heart and mind. What happens in mine? Not so much.
I'll have to encapsulate my various responses to this story and performance in one insufficient word: beautiful. OK, another word: touching. It resonates with me. Profound while seeming simple. It's stirring, as in, it's inviting feelings that are still a bit mixed up, not sorted out - stirred up. You got a lot done in one short short story. Thank you.
My new friend, I wrote you a long response. That the Internet promptly swallowed.
Short version... you made me feel seen. That's precious to me.
Thank you.
That has happened to me too, that I've written "eloquent" and lengthy comments or notes and they get eaten! Thank you for your reply.
I have poor forms of some memory. I can never write the same thought twice. At least not reliably. I couldn't remember well enough to try and recreate it. Lol. But that was my honest feeling. Being seen.