Tinny Words in Cups and Saucers

At three thirty this morning the iPhone beeped. Generally I throw a pillow over it and go back to sleep but this morning I picked it up and it blinked at me and quivered just a bit as if needing a petting like the cat. On the screen, amidst calls for Trump’s head and Wanna Get Away offers from the airlines, were three emails from you which were mostly responses to questions or issues that I’d raised.  But it was dark and I wasn’t about to leave the warmth of bed to find my computer.  Instead I lay back on the pillow and began composing my responses.  Overhead, sentences and words spun until they fell back onto the pillowcase  and I put them into cups and saucers on the side of the bed and dashed off to other thoughts.  Soon I was driving in the nighttime rain down a back alley in Paris, wondering if I’d find my way home.

I awoke in my diving bell.  The sentences I’d carefully composed seemed tinny and rehearsed in the morning light but I typed them anyway and then I thought: I’m writing this to myself. There is no you. Just me spinning off comets and asteroids to visit at twilight, speechless.  Tethered to what, I don’t know. Hopefully a boat on the surface. 

Then I thought of all the other people who swam past my visor as wisps and puffs who blogged and tweeted and posted pictures online and they all became phosphorescent angelfish to follow as the tides pushed me through another rudderless day of writing only to myself.


10 thoughts on “Tinny Words in Cups and Saucers

    1. I hadn’t gotten much sleep and was feeling adrift and strangely isolated. I saw a movie a few years back which often haunts me The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. It kind of captures that mood. Hope you’re having a nice weekend MMM – thanks for stopping by.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Ohh, I do remember this film. His was a peculiar kind of isolation. I loved everything about it but I remember the most how much I wished to read his novel and still haven’t. Also, I learned from reviews that in the film they changed the lover with the wife. It was the former that stuck by him. I’m having a weird month but today it’s the 5th anniversary of me in Italy and we have feasted. Yum. Now you sea-food, now you don’t.

        Liked by 2 people

  1. I’m declaring this some of your best witing ever. It is consistent, sad, honest, poetic, and emotive with unexpected economy. If only all of us could write so we’ll. The world would be a better place and people might smile more. The internet could be saved with a hallelujah. Thanks. Duke

    Liked by 1 person

  2. That writer, Knausgaard, Norwegian fellow, maybe Swedish actually, recently declared in an interview of some kind that the beautiful sentence along with the mind-trip first person narrative is dead. I’m not sure what he was getting at, but I think it had something to do with collectivism being where it’s at nowadays. This, I’m guessing, means that writers who like to think of themselves as relevant, must start telling stories using as many characters as possible? I don’t know. He might be onto something, or he might be furthering his own agenda as we all do from time to time. Anyway, I like this piece, in spite of Knausgaard.


    1. Thanks Aaron. Sounds like that guy thinks too much. When I did figurative painting all I heard from profs was that figurative painting was dead. Guess what. It never died.


      1. Knausgaard is in with the literary elite, currently. He’s (was? he may be reacting against himself by this point, as his most recent interview that I referenced suggests) on the vanguard of a ‘new’ literary style coined ‘autofiction’. IRONICALLY, autofiction, as you might have guessed, is based, somewhat obliquely, on autobiography. Here’s a link from 2014, so long ago now that things might have changed lol

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