Time of no reply

MISJA FITZGERALD MICHEL - Time of no reply (by... by No_format

Thanks to Bob, for pointing me here.

Continuing the Fitzgerald theme.

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All those years of silence, rolled into a few words. There was little left to say, or what he did say didn't sound like himself. 

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Bob is 'the music box' under 'people', by the way. A rare bird who still stands (stands still) for what he believes in. Of course, what one stands for is also important, or else every Talib would be virtuous. 

What do I mean-to use that awful word? 'Meaning' is usually employed to try and avoid confusion, after it's already set in: "what do you mean?" But if it means anything then it is the meeting of subjectivity with that which is objectively beautiful and true. 

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What do you remember? Something very old, the slow notes, a kind of sadness. The further you go back, the larger the circle is. In another sense, though, there is only one journey home. All else is a distant-and beautiful-remembrance or shadow of the past. 

A line from the Qur'an, from memory: 'If a wound hath befallen you, a wound like that had befallen others before you'.

The meaning is not in the exact words or their sequence. Surely we will be forgiven for our bad timing? 

Ubo, my Jew, said: promise me one thing."Yeah, sure. Name it?" Never grow old. 

How to keep time when everything is lost? Shikast: when time is broken, a broken circle.

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Why does everything come to you late, b? They get to you, or you get to them,late? 

'And love arrived may find us somewhere else'
---E. Jennings.

From childhood, a useless wooden letter holder had the words-in bold italic- written on it: 'It's later than you think'. Charming!

Today, for the first time, I listened to the late quartets. It just feels like the playing is slow, from another time. How do you, with the resources at hand (which always have the fingerprint of historical time,) find that which is timeless? I wonder if the tempo of life is too fast for some people, for me? children and old people are always out of time. We miss much. If you knew a few notes, really knew, you could name that tune in four, five maybe, for the whole is in the parts, "now".

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The best thing about Sacks's wonderful story about Clive is the warmth of his voice. The man with a seven second memory. A few stepping stones and beyond that the abyss. Of course, in many ways capitalism generates the same disruption of narrative. Everything must begin again and the past is nothing but the pastime, something to be packaged or consumed by the heritage industry.

What holds us together if not love, if not the memory of love?

'When memory is of the future'
--J.Riley.

Through memory we become who we are.

He knew where he was by all that was implied in a gesture, all that was not said.

Where is that place, when is that time, when finally where you are what you are?