In Praise of Their Divorce
And when I heard about the divorce of my friends,
I couldn't help but be proud of them,
that man and that woman setting off in different directions,
like pilgrims in a proverb
-him to buy his very own toaster oven,
her seeking a prescription for sleeping pills.
Let us keep in mind the hidden forces
which had struggled underground for years
to push their way to the surface - and that finally did,
cracking the crust, moving the plates of earth apart,
releasing the pent-up energy required
for them to rent their own apartments,
for her to join the softball league for single mothers
for him to read George the Giraffe over his speakerphone
at bedtime to the six-year-old.
The bible says, Be fruitful and multiply
but is it not also fruitful to subtract and to divide?
Because if marriage is a kind of womb,
divorce is the being born again;
alimony is the placenta one them will eat;
loneliness is the name of the wet-nurse;
regret is the elementary school
endurance the graduation.
So do not say that they are splattered like dropped lasagna
or dead in the head-on collision of cliches
or nailed on the cross of their competing narratives.
What is taken apart is not utterly demolished.
It is like a great mysterious egg in Kansas
that has cracked and hatched two big bewildered birds.
It is two spaceships coming out of retirement,
flying away from their dead world,
the burning booster rocket of divorce falling off behind them,
the bystanders pointing at the sky and saying, Look.
~ from Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty by Tony Hoagland
This is the sign I hang on my laptop cover when I'm slouched on the sofa, fluffy blanket pulled up to my chin because I like to keep the house 'meat locker cold' during these hot Houston summer nights, and I'm busy pinning on my Pinterest boards. Oh, sorry, I meant CURATING my online AGGREGATION of tattooed men, drowning women and strange bunnies; Images that declare me INTERESTING, HIP, CREATIVE and WITH-IT ... (umm, maybe 'with-it' is a term past its prime?)
Regardless of the WORDING, I claim my place in this brave new world of online curation. I have evolved beyond blogging's infant days when my posts were rambling TL;DR (too long; didn't read) dissertations on my boring life and its mundane detailia (get it - detail +ia = hip new with-it word?) to become a DISCERNING COLLECTOR with an eye for what's TRENDING in the .... umm..... CURATING world.
And I am FREED! Freed from my abject self absorption. Liberated from digressions, rhetorical suppositions, LONG FORM writing and poetry -- EEK, POEMS! -- to focus my CREATIVE endeavors on VISUAL POETRY. Yes, my blogging friends, blogging as you once knew it, daresay still archaically practice in some instances, is DEAD. Dead, dead, dead. Thank you Tumblr. Thank you FB. Thank you Pinterest.
Let me assure you my friends that CURATING is no easy feat, no slouch for the couch potato. Oh NO. CURATING is a SERIOUS business with TREACHERY, THIEVERY, and RULES of conduct that are more intricate than the geisha's tea ceremony. Why I tell you, I have been LOCKED out of SEVERAL
pinners' CURATORS' boards for my bold pilfering AGGREGATING of stolen VISUALS. I've been accused of INFRINGING on their AESTHETIC without due CREDIT and respect for their CAREFULLY CURATED COLLECTIONS. I have been unfairly warned by the Pinterest Governing Body to PLAY NICE and STUDY (long arduous considering hours of itty bitty tiny text) the ETIQUETTE of pinning curating lest I be BANNED from the internet's new CUTTING EDGE.
Friends, what I am doing is IMPORTANT. Yes, IMPORTANT! I am curating a CAREFULLY CONSIDERED SOCIAL ARCHIVE of the 21st CENTURY. Why, my COLLECTIONS are NO LESS IMPORTANT than STONEHENGE itself. Future generations will CONSIDER the
pathology symbology of my f**ed up mind CREATIVE VISION. And wonder. Yes, wonder. And possibly weep at its banality beauty.
Of course, I shall have to go now and
pin curate this post ...