I’m not writing about Fiesta and I’m not writing about Earth Day. Earth Day has already happened on April 22 and Fiesta is still happening. I’m writing about . . . writing.
I enjoy writing. Making marks with my pen like I’m doing now. Making marks that mean something is writing.
I’m using a Pilot G-2 10 point.
I like this pen but people have used a stylus (cuneiform), a quill pen (the old signers of the Constitution), a stone chisel (the old Romans and Greeks and Phoenicians). They have scratched on stones with other stones and they have painted murals on cave walls with paint brushes. A mural full of picture words.
These days we call it literature. Typically it’s type on page, printed there by some technological process but still using ink and paper just like the old days.
When I went to elementary school the desks had holes in them for inkwells. The inkwells were gone but the holes remained. I think now they have modern desks with no holes. What did they do, dip their quill pens in the inkwell and then write something? I don’t know. Maybe they had steel nibbed pens. Yeah, probably.
Writing has been going on for thousands of years in some form. Online digital newsletters with podcasts attached are just the latest form. Human language communication has been going on for even longer. Talking. People expressing something. What’s your expression?
That’s the point of this newsletter, I suppose, if there is a point. Express something! Find something from deep within yourself, your authentic self and add your voice to the conversation. No pretense. No pressure.
The human conversation is the totality of everything we are saying to each other. Imagine if we could visualize the network of all our human conversations, all the nexus points and their attendant streams, the connecting lines, refracted like beams of light thru a prism, the shadings, the illuminations, the deeper meanings of our words; would it appear endless and wondrous? Certainly uncharted. A matrix of words and meanings and spoken intentions that everyone is a part of. This matrix describes our culture and supports the world we live in.
I believe in the literature tradition. That’s one way to say something. We don’t tell stories around the campfire much anymore but we do have literature. A substitute I suppose. Stories and tales about whatever it is, life on planet earth basically, never gets old. It’s always interesting, useful, inspiring. That’s literature - stories of our tribe. The humans. It might have aliens in it but it’s still about the humans because it’s how we imagine the aliens is how they appear, somehow, in some strange way, they always turn out to be like us.
“I’m so glad you’re still alive.” I said to Michelle my barista at Press this morning. It was my morning barista joke. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t be.
At Mila I attempted to pay for a mocha cappuccino with a magic stick. I found it on the ground nearby but I didn’t tell them that. I told them it was imbued with power, as much as they could imagine.
Then I rode my bike down Ave. B into the city. The place of stories. Everybody’s got one.
This is what I’ve got to say.
So I could write about Earth Day, it already happened, and I could write about Fiesta, it’s still happening. It comes by every year - Fiesta. A 10 day super-duper block party that involves the whole city but mostly downtown.
Parades and bands and twirling girls. Spectacular floats with women in spectacular costumes. Parties, and putting on the ritz. Having too many tequilas (easy to do) and taking a taxi home. Trying to remember where is your car in the morning.
And then of course there are millions of smaller mini-fiestas all over town. The Alamo Heights Fiesta, the UIW open campus thing they do, The St. Mary’s Oyster Bake, the King William Fair where you can walk with your dog right in the parade. But I’m not writing about any of that.
I could write about the earth and its burgeoning, bursting forth new season: Spring. Wildflowers everywhere. Flowered wreaths on the doors signifying Spring and Fiesta.
Life happening everywhere. It really is quite delicious. Fragrance on the air. Nature promulagating away doing the thing called Spring. The color green. Flowers red and yellow and blue and pink, purple and white and orange. Seeds come from flowers. But that’s what I’m not writing about.
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what i'm not writing about