“How much of human life is left in waiting?”

- from the fourth Indiana Jones movie; at the very end

my words

I once made a collection of words that were sought out with the criteria to be THE words that define me; I wrote them in my journal to record them for future use in an art project; the art project hasn’t yet been started, but here are the words:

Fear

masked by strength

Cognitive dissidence

sketching

writing

passion

Listening

self-hatred

the perpetuate struggle

laughter

forgetting

lightness

weight

seeking answers

seeking understanding

confussion

fly fishing

creativity

leaving rubbish behind

seeking peace

used to be private

trying to be humbly public

I don’t know if I completely agree with these words any more; I believe at the time they had me nailed pretty damn well. But that is how it goes, constant movement; static chaos and chaotic consistence; always changing, always made up of the same stuff. Perhaps those words still define me, since more has been added to my life since I may just have to add more words to define myself correctly. endless words?

nah. . . .

perhaps a bokonon hymn?

“In his ‘Fifty-third Calyso,’ Bokonon invites us to sing along with him:

Oh, a sleeping drunkard

Up in Central Park,

And a lion-hunter

In the jungle dark,

And a Chinese dentist,

And a British queen-

All fit together

In the same machine.

Nice, nice, very nice;

Nice, nice, very nice;

Nice, nice, very nice-

So many different people

In the same device.”

Kurt Vonnegut – Cat’s Cradle (p3)