After two days, beyond London, I finally begin to understand my feelings and same time losing all control for it.
Suppose, that is why contemporary poets rarely write about love…they lost control and yet understand its loss.
Two hours earlier I tried some yoga, to regain at least the control over my body.
Over night I became sick, my throat was sour and this morning my vocal cords could not swing anymore: no voice.
Going to pharmacy it all appeared to me so…
London is the origin of everything in Britain, there is a little London in everything but nothing is like the capital. Why I feel so much part of it I am about to find out in the next weeks, hopefully.
Poetry is dropping now and then, on the screen (well, better than any juice, right?)
And, maybe wrong, I get closer to the general mainstream style without being hurt in my pride.
This afternoon I read Gertrude Stein’s ”Tender Buttons” and during reading I wandered through several stages, the first I remember, was frustration: How could anyone understand what she is trying to say with all her illogical writing?
After around fifteen pages I entered the second stage: admiration, coupled with jealousy (of course). In fact, when you got used to this irritating rhyming and exchanging normality with absurdity, then you made it almost to the third level which is (Understanding? No) total confusion with her world and your own.
And I am now through with a bit more than the half of Tender Buttons, and I started going through the stages over and over, in fact after every five pages. It all intensifies.
Perhaps, that is the reason why I had to put the book away after every ten pages; I simply could not (under)stand it anymore.
(Surprisingly I still knew where I was!)
Still, looking closely and slowly at the words, I must admit it’s a great piece.

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