mmdccclii

And, I might just add, a real treat knowing you. 

                                      —John Ashbery

I like to start out by
saying these things;
by saying something,
at least. I start out
by saying a lot and I
end up saying way
too much, but one
has to start some-
where—if one wants
a connection at all,
I suppose. And, to
bring it home, my
one ongoing crisis
of faith involves
finding these con-
nections of grave
importance; while,
unfortunately, all
too often comp-
letely losing them,
one by one by one).
So it’s a big deal to
me, these kernels
of engagement,
and where they
go. Even though
attempting to be-
gin one is all too
often a bit like
easing slowly in-
to a very cool lake
on an overly warm
spring morning (say
in Arkansas, for
example, since
I also tend to start
my connection just
talking about me
and what I know),
listening a bit,
then comparing
what I just heard
to me and what I
know—which, can
be a total turn-
off, it seems, but
what else do I
know but myself?
If I’m an expert at
anything (at least as
far as expert can take
you; but being an
apprentice at know-
ing oneself sounds
like a pretty sad
joke, doesn’t it?)
A cool lake. A
warm spring
morning. Per-
haps it’s Cove
Lake. Again,
I speak most-
ly of what I
know. May-
be? I do hap-
pen to believe
that it’s a good
habit to know
yourself as best
as you can. Any-
way, in compar-
ison to a cold dip
in a lake, I’ve never
once been surfing.
At least not that
I know of. And I
can say pretty ass-
uredly that I never
will. It seems so
excruciating and
so tedious. Which
isn’t, I think, a very
good combination for
a self-proclaimed hed-
onist (self-proclama-
tion being, again,
supposed). Why
do things that
are so much
work, like, say,
eating lobster,
for example. What
I know—or think I
know—about my
self. However,
as I almost nev-
er actually say:
never say never.