BACK TO BLACK
Back at work, I sit and listen to talks about budgets. Budgets meant to cover ideas. Poems by Alisdair Gray come to my mind. Especially from his Old Negatives book. I want to kick myself into attention, but I remember that I don't wear mountain boots anymore. I'm back to black, Roman sandals, and the habitual desire to be a tall man. But I get exasperated as I realize that I can't quite make my re-gained sense of cosmopolitanism after summer fit this framework. The heel-less sandals ruin my equation. Next month I'll be having tea with head of states, or some such. I try to anticipate my femme fatale look for the event. Spying on myself. I think I'll go for high-heels, put my brain in a basket, and let my senses blacken the night. I'll call the emerging contours spike geometry. A negative of thinking lust.
Meanwhile, Alisdair Gray for you - all in capitals, as he likes it. Words on stilettoes.
STATEMENTS BY AN UNCEILINGED BLOOD
MIND IS A SKY-MACHINE
KEPT STABLE BY THE BREEZE OF BREATHA RACKETY SLIPSHOD THING OF GUT AND NERVE,
PATHCED TUBE AND TWISTED CABLE.
THE ENGINES OF THE HEART AND LUNGS SUSTAINE
ITS WINGS ABOVE THE BASEMENT OF A VOID.
BOXED IN ITS SKULL,
BRAIN IS THE ANEROID BY WHICH WE GAUGE
A LEVEL THROUGH THE PRESSURE OF OUR PAIN
AND STRUGGLE HARD FOR SOME
DEGREE OF STABLE EQUILIBRIUM.
Comments
On the other hand equilibrium on stiletto heels is a tall order...