an instrument with a meshed or perforated bottom, used for separating coarse from fine parts of loose matter.
a person who cannot keep a secret.
verb (used with or without object), sieved, siev·ing.
to put or force through a sieve; sift.
It’s somehow the final days of August.
Have you ever had so much to do that you don’t know where to start your day? So instead you’re putting things on “paper”? I am so very scattered today. And there is so much swirling in my brain that it’s hard to pin down consistent, coherent, “productive” (oh man, THAT word) workflows. So what else but to write. Here’s all I literally can articulate this morning… this month… this season, it would seem. And certainly, I make no claims to order.
Jagged Little Pill
I’ve been unable to sit down and write for so long, I’ve forgotten my login and am at time of writing locked out of the account. All I currently have as an accurate representation of the day thus far is Alanis. Ever return to an album years later and it’s only better each take? Someone should make an award for that.
On Social Media
Facebook is a dumpster fire. It’s unnerving to even be on it. Our election year. Our democracy. For many, life itself. Muddied by a toxic soup of (in)articulations and Zuckerberg’s head games. Does anything legitimate ever actually come out of the comments section? I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve unfriended since March.
Forms of expression are actually starting to merge in my brain. It’s from exhaustion, but could be fruitful. I feel completely exhausted by so many things I can’t even write about here, circulating on my periphery, that I think if that notion is collective (pretty sure it is) then collectively we’re approaching some kind of epiphany. What will this feel like, weight-wise, I wonder. I think the walls in your brain that separate nouns by difference are starting to wear down/shift gears. Mine are, anyways. This could be amazing or a real situation. Or both. I don’t know yet which direction it’ll go.
Not the Doctor
Such ugliness surfaced in this massive sieve of a 6-month period (how has it been that long?), and I suppose part of the exhaustion is the realization and decision-making process regarding what’s acceptable to have in your life once you witness its truth, and what is not. Some people are now gone from my life. It’ll be alright.
A Return to Whitman
The ever-relevant bard of democracy. What a thing to write words that hold as much water a hundred years later. Like total/complete/relevancy. Can you imagine? Stumbled on “To the States” the other day…
Resist much, obey little,
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth, ever after-ward resumes its liberty
I wonder what Walt and Alanis would talk about over coffee. Honestly, I think they’d be buds. But there go those brain separations again.