Friday, May 13, 2005
Bonn
Busy packing for a work-related trip to Bonn. First time in Germany, despite all the time I've spent learning the language, so that should be fun.
Looking at all the things I've accumulated, just amassed ascatter across my increasingly barren cubicle, how should I begin to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
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Busy packing for a work-related trip to Bonn. First time in Germany, despite all the time I've spent learning the language, so that should be fun.
In a minute there is timeAt the same time I'm packing out my office, since Bonn marks the beginning of a new position, and I have to move things out. And for some reason, that moment of hesitation - that moment just before you are about to take action, to transfer thought into movement - always makes me think of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock".
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
Looking at all the things I've accumulated, just amassed ascatter across my increasingly barren cubicle, how should I begin to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
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...though I would see you and your blogging skills more fit for the role of Hamlet, rather than Polonius, to whom Prufrock compares himself ('attendant lord,' l. 112).
But, alas, I digress. (Isn't it quite the aphoristic little poem? -- something about modernists like Eliot and cummings I guess.)
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But, alas, I digress. (Isn't it quite the aphoristic little poem? -- something about modernists like Eliot and cummings I guess.)
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