tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-855802737317865685.post5057722619206751192..comments2024-02-24T15:58:56.712-08:00Comments on The Good Typist: ApologyKristen McHenryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467256747399406710noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-855802737317865685.post-86109728829411370002010-09-18T19:00:38.003-07:002010-09-18T19:00:38.003-07:00I don't know why genitalia are always confused...I don't know why genitalia are always confused—just seems to be the way with that part of the body. This poem reminds me that I read somewhere recently that over the course of one year, only 5% of you remains. That is to say: 95% of your cells are replaced with new ones. So the idea that we are any<i>thing</i> is questionable. To me it is clear in the fact that when I am happy, I have no memory of ever being sad. And when I am depressed—well, that's very dangerous. Just gotta use your intellectual capacity to work it out: this has always been temporary before. Of course, there is no before; there is just now.<br /><br />Which all has nothing to do with what you wrote. Well, little anyway. The poem reminds me of Becket's short plays. If he had been an animator, I can see him piecing together parts of a body and then just leaving it standing there on the "stage" not knowing quite what to do.<br /><br />I feel quite estranged from certain parts of my body. I don't even know their names. It is some part of my stomach, esophagus—definitely the esophagus, regular intestines and the fluffy ones. They aren't team players, I can tell you that! And, of course, I keep hunting around for a soul. Nothing's turned up yet. I imagine it being very soothing, but maybe my continual heartburn <i>is</i> my soul. Is it sane of me to seek my soul when I know God is evil?<br /><br />My tongue is <i>not</i> shy...Frank Moraeshttp://www.franklycurious.comnoreply@blogger.com