At the restaurant on the coast, having survived
three flights of stone steps to sit at the counter
along the rail on the top deck, we are overlooking
the vast blinding brightness of the sea.
I am stunned by the effort it has taken, the lack
of transcendence in the resulting bustle
of ordinary eating and serving. We share
a pulled pork sandwich, a slice of apple pie.
We are mostly silent now. Our effort
to be cheerful has washed us empty and clean.
Finally we stand to go, gather our jackets, bags,
his slender new cane. As he comes along carefully
avoiding the tables, the feet, I stand watching
the water far below jostle and swell in its enormous
bowl, and he joins me, turns back to the view.
Is it mountains? He asks. After a moment
I take his arm. We turn. We walk away.
-- Gail Entrekin
Iím paging through the New Yorker
the grim reaper is at the door
Iím at the cinema, big screen instructions
before the show: no texting no talking
OMG and LMAO
What is this alphabet soup, Acronese, Textese
shorthand communication sans syllables,
A secret language of the young like pig-latin,
Nu Shu or the gift of tongues.
Bronze age Minoan linear A or B,
Itís linguistics dictated by technology
as ontology recapitulates philology.
-- Laurel Feigenbaum