of turmoil and misery
These last weeks have made it difficult to write both haiku and essays about haiku.
I watch TV and its about the war we can’t do much about.
I pick up one book and suddenly I am back in the refugee crisis caused by the Spanish Civil War.
I pick up another device and without any indication of where I was going, I find myself in Carville, Mississippi and learning about a US minimum security prison that shares housing with the national leprosarium because all persons diagnosed with leprosy (Hansen’s disease) in the U.S. were required, by law, to be quarantined and treated there.
While at the same time, my job is to sell sunshine and beaches online.
Going mad, using both definitions of the word at the same time.
You bet it has been difficult to write both haiku and essays about haiku.
Good gracious, but what is wrong with me today?
What worked for me in the past was to get back to the roots of all this and focus on word usage in my reading.
I came across this line from the book, How Proust Can Change Your Life, by Alain de Botton,
I have been avoiding this book because no matter how I try I cannot get into Proust.
The legendary Civil War writer Shelby Foote loved Proust and claimed to read the complete In Search of Lost Time (all 9 or is it 10 or more volumes) at least 10 times.
But I cannot get it going so I did not want to know how Proust could Change my life.
Anyway I was paging thought the it and there was this:
However brilliant, however wise the work, it seems that the lives of artists can be relied upon to exhibit an extraordinary, incongruous range of turmoil, misery, and stupidity.
Now on usage, it is a wonder.
Not just turmoil, misery, and stupidity.
Not turmoil, misery, and stupidity that works together and builds on itself.
But incongruous turmoil, misery, and stupidity.
Incompatible turmoil, misery, and stupidity.
Turmoil that rejects the misery and the stupidity.
Misery that cannot relate to the stupidity and the turmoil.
Stupidity that cannot understand the turmoil or the misery.
All adding to one vile brew in my brain.
And not just incongruity in my turmoil, misery, and stupidity but extraordinary incongruity in my turmoil, misery and stupidty.
In the words of Charlie Brown, THAT’S IT!.