A = A
By Andrew Joron
Mine to ask a mask to say, A is not A.
No one, ever the contrarian, to answer.
The moon is both divided & multiplied
by water: as chance, as the plural of chant.
O diver, to be sea-surrounded by a thought bled
white---
a blankness as likely as blackness.
What is the word for getting words & forgetting?
Might night right sight?
I, too late to relate
I & I, trap light in sound
& sing no thing that breath can bring.
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I didn't have a very eventful Monday until the evening. We are going to see my father-in-law get a lifetime achievement award on Tuesday, so there were a bunch of things I needed to get done, like tracking down black pantyhose without a run in them. It rained all day, which made it easier not to want to be wandering around looking at azaleas. Last week was a good one for gay rights in a couple of US states and a couple of other countries, and on Monday we finally got an openly gay NBA player whom I'm pleased to say played most recently for the Washington Wizards, though I haven't followed pro basketball much at all this year. Before dinner, Adam wanted to go over to school for the first day of the art show, where it turned out that there was a reception with snacks and he had several photos on display that he didn't know about. Here are some pics of the art, including one by Adam of Paul with a giraffe for an arm plus another photo hanging next to one of Maddy's photos:
Evening TV involved catching up on the Once Upon a Time we missed on Sunday, which Adam and I were ridiculing aloud, in part because we could predict 3/4 of the lines and in part because we're finally willing to admit we'd like the show better if Henry had died from a poison apple many episodes ago. How did a show that started so creatively descend into such painful cliches, not in the fairy tale world where might be excusable but in the modern era where its women are slotted into ridiculously stilted roles? Afterward we watched the return of Warehouse 13, which made up for every disappointment I've had with genre TV this year: in addition to my love for all the regulars, it brought in a WB favorite and it's like Guest Women of Genre Central -- not just Wagner and Mulgrew but Polly Walker! The storylines are sometimes like mediocre Doctor Who, except that instead of glorifying the Lone Genius with his pretty little helpmeet, it glorifies teamwork and women who kick ass. And Pete likes Twilight. I can't ask for more.