May. 19th, 2016

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We have lost all sense of time and space, it has become clear. We are floating free of calendar squares, timelines, appointment reminders. We have transcended chronological expectations. Strange, since we are still a creature of deadlines in our other life, as well as shift work. We have an alarm on our cell phone that goes off once a day -- two to three times, if you incorporate the snooze function into your calculations. But calculations are just another form of ordering, and ordinal regimen is what we have detached from somehow. Time, we are told, is an illusion, time on the Internet doubly so. Tilt your head and we may all gain a glimpse of infinity.

Or I could just be turning into a terminal flake.

Probably there are other mitigating factors, like fatigue -- I am so fucking tired, it's near the end of the school year, I now tutor on Wednesdays instead of Fridays, etc. Anyway, I am here now, with you, and I have been reading the best-selling, award-winning H is for Hawk.

My God, this is such a good book. I knew about the grief over her father's unexpected death and the training of the hawk; I did not know about the delicate discussion of T.H. White and his sexuality (and the remarks about closeted homosexual British nature writers in general), nor the class implications of falconry, nor her prickly yet endearing self-consciousness about the whole endeavor, which is part and parcel of her talent for the careful observation of particularities. And the writing is beautiful.

This week's earworm: Alicia Keys torments me.

http://www.sfweekly.com/shookdown/2016/05/17/earworm-weekly-alicia-keys-if-i-aint-got-you

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