A letter to some friends
I am sorry I am not as awake and engaged recently as I should like to be. This particular war has surprised me by involving me personally, involved me worse than ever combined with all that father/son role miasma (I hope he does well with war and women and words, and doesn't screw up like me ..... God save me I can't help it). It makes me dozy.
It is all especially depressing not only because it is another war being made on children and fruit trees, not only that the UN is again the midwife and the aid agencies the collectors for the slaughter, not only because the language of it is so infuriatingly banal and stupid but especially because I thought I was away from war into somewhere else.
There is as usual a collection of stereotypical figures in my pantheon. Once more, and for the second generation, we are tied up with the grand daughters of the fathers of the country, tongue-tied and desperate Palestinians, there are meetings of family combatants, Romeos and Juliets, angling amongst the bomb damage for epiphany and chunks of light.
It destroys my focus and plan. It upsets structures and correspondences. Once more, and for the third generation, we are in the spider sight of the spies.
And it is all such a little silly thing. And it came so fast.
But again I watch the news all day and write very little sardonic revelation. I cook for seven, I drive aimlessly, I have the same idea over and over again. It is all so deadly obvious. For son it is all new.
Then there are my daughters.
It is all especially depressing not only because it is another war being made on children and fruit trees, not only that the UN is again the midwife and the aid agencies the collectors for the slaughter, not only because the language of it is so infuriatingly banal and stupid but especially because I thought I was away from war into somewhere else.
There is as usual a collection of stereotypical figures in my pantheon. Once more, and for the second generation, we are tied up with the grand daughters of the fathers of the country, tongue-tied and desperate Palestinians, there are meetings of family combatants, Romeos and Juliets, angling amongst the bomb damage for epiphany and chunks of light.
It destroys my focus and plan. It upsets structures and correspondences. Once more, and for the third generation, we are in the spider sight of the spies.
And it is all such a little silly thing. And it came so fast.
But again I watch the news all day and write very little sardonic revelation. I cook for seven, I drive aimlessly, I have the same idea over and over again. It is all so deadly obvious. For son it is all new.
Then there are my daughters.
posted by Steve at
7:21 am
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