I who am here dissembled
A. came two weeks ago, and I'm still getting back to a mode where I'm not reaching out my arms, trying to find her nearby. In order to make it through the next six weeks, the goal is to break up my time between work, prayer, and logic games. If everything goes through I take the LSAT December second.
The weather here has been beautiful (it's over eighty again today). I've been running writs and arguments over to the LA Supreme Court for my clients, and I'm starting to become friends with the man who screens my pocket change and the lady who prints out my adhesive ID card ("you welcome," she says after each visit).
Then, there's prayer. My rosary's disappeared and my breviary's gone MIA. I feel like all my comforts in prayer are being stripped from me. I keep thinking of those lines from Ash Wednesday:
And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
Prophesy to the wind, for only the wind will listen.
I was at Angola Monday (what a place! The prison grounds stretch out past the horizon). My visits both went well even before Eleni bought me fried chicken for dinner. Its weird having a line of work where confidentiality goes beyond good taste, but I guess that's a good lesson.
Heading west to Lake Charles at noon. Business travel is easy when you're already looking for ways of escape.
A. in the Lower 9th. I think that seeing firsthand the neighborhoods ravaged by the flood is important. Its like going to Pompeii, except that these are our people and our houses, and this disaster was man-made. (The similie doesn't exactly hold, though; there's no Gulf of Naples, and the gelato in New Orleans isn't nearly as good.)
Cheesy prom photo.
Looking for Ignatius Reilly (nee John Kennedy Toole) in Cemetery Park, last Sunday.
The weather here has been beautiful (it's over eighty again today). I've been running writs and arguments over to the LA Supreme Court for my clients, and I'm starting to become friends with the man who screens my pocket change and the lady who prints out my adhesive ID card ("you welcome," she says after each visit).
Then, there's prayer. My rosary's disappeared and my breviary's gone MIA. I feel like all my comforts in prayer are being stripped from me. I keep thinking of those lines from Ash Wednesday:
And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
Prophesy to the wind, for only the wind will listen.
I was at Angola Monday (what a place! The prison grounds stretch out past the horizon). My visits both went well even before Eleni bought me fried chicken for dinner. Its weird having a line of work where confidentiality goes beyond good taste, but I guess that's a good lesson.
Heading west to Lake Charles at noon. Business travel is easy when you're already looking for ways of escape.
A. in the Lower 9th. I think that seeing firsthand the neighborhoods ravaged by the flood is important. Its like going to Pompeii, except that these are our people and our houses, and this disaster was man-made. (The similie doesn't exactly hold, though; there's no Gulf of Naples, and the gelato in New Orleans isn't nearly as good.)
Cheesy prom photo.
Looking for Ignatius Reilly (nee John Kennedy Toole) in Cemetery Park, last Sunday.