Tuesday, February 26, 2013

My Life Fits In A Cardboard Box

Talking with a friend the other day about my recent post Mad Professor I realized how much writing I have laying around, pretty much available for anyone if they got curious.  As stated in that post I've always got some kind of scrap paper in my back pocket and a pen nearby, you never know when something inspiring will catch your eye.  A lot of this stuff I never do anything with, folded up pieces of ink covered paper litter my life, they are my life.  In my locker at work, above my visor in the car, under the arm rest.  I've got notebooks of all shapes and sizes stacked up in the garage, and filling book shelves.  I have to confess, I think it looks good seeing a book I've written in sitting up there between to Thoreau and Whitman.  Maybe one day. 

I often wonder what would happen to all of it if something happened to me.  Would anyone read it?  I've got a lot of thoughts written down that I'm not sure people want to see.  Would people like the version of me they see?  It wouldn't matter, I suppose, I wouldn't be here.  Apparently I'm not that concerned with it, they still lay, strewn about my world.  I tell you though, it'd be like a puzzle for someone to figure out.  There's no rhyme or reason to any of it.  I don't date anything, I'm just not that organized.  Having a blog helps me in that aspect.

Maybe one day I'll do something with all of it.  I'm not sure.  I can't imagine just throwing it away, although I haven't looked at most of it in years.  I intend to write a book some day and perhaps I can use some of it for that.  I suppose it's possible my kids might want to look through it at some point.  I remember pouring over some stuff that my mother had one written, it was like a gold mine in a cardboard box.  If only she had done something with it.  I may not have the quality of writing she had but I have the determination she never could muster. 


  1. The amazing thing and beautiful thing about our writing is that it outlives us...our words live long after we're gone. How awesome is that!?

  2. i agree with keith, that is pretty awesome. i think i would love to read anything you write!

  3. Perhaps, if my words were read in retrospect, I would not turn out to be who they all think I am.

    Breakfast After 10

  4. That's an interesting way of looking at it.

  5. Have you watched the movie 'Black Butterflies' (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0906778/). If not, I recommend it. It is about a poet from South Africa. Like you, she wrote on little scraps of paper. Now she one of the most celebrated of the Afrikaans poets. Her words speak to your soul from her soul.

    Little Grain of Sand

    Grain little grain of sand
    pebble rolled in my hand
    pebble thrust in my pocket
    a keepsake for a locket

    Little sun big in the blue
    a granule I make out of you
    shine in my pebble little grain
    for the moment that’s all I can gain

    Baby that screams from the womb
    nothing is big in this tomb
    quietly laugh now and speak
    silence in dead-end street

    Little world round and earth-blue
    make a mere eye out of you
    house with a door and two slits
    a garden where everything fits

    Small arrow feathered into space
    love fades away from its place
    Carpenter seals a coffin that’s bought
    I ready myself for the nought

    Small grain of sand is my word, my breath
    small grain of nought is my death

    Ingrid Jonker, translated by Antjie Krog.