October 26, 2004

mein Aufgabe

From 8-5, I am an editor. And in my off-hours I'm an editor too. To justify my vicious editing of a friend's work, I have written an apologia of my task.

The task of the editor is a fundamentally problematic one. He must analyze and critique the thoughts of those more knowledgeable, more mature, and more wise than himself. His job, then, requires a certain level of presumption. Aside from spell-checking and grammar-scrutinizing, what could he possibly contribute? How could he possibly correct the musings of his superiors? The editor must quell these nagging doubts and press forward, dutifully following wheresoever his editorial instinct might lead him. He must be subjective, nitpicky, and arbitrary—maddeningly so. He must waste hours upon hours pondering the placement of a modifier. He must mercilessly mutilate the wording over which the author so lovingly labored. Any editor worth his proverbial salt must be a tireless bloodhound, a heartless butcher, a red-pencil–wielding fiend. That is his job.

Posted by jonsligh at 08:21 AM | Comments (16)

October 08, 2004

the ice cometh

With clammy-palmed fear I await the onslaught of Winter. The autumn winds, chilly and cold, announce the impending judgment. For the 24th time Winter will wrap its icy fingers around me and steal from me every last ray of warmth, dooming me to a perpetual chill. An icy stillness descends upon all things and hovers there like a gargoyle, throwing its chill on body, mind, and mood. I am consoled only by my faith that the Sun too will be chilled. Many a time the Sun has rained down his ultraviolet judgment upon my pigment-deficient skin. Now the skin-crisping rays are replaced by the finger-numbing cold, as always and always. The freeze will come and it will go. Over the elements and their passing I am powerless. So I will huddle in my corner, dreading warmth and the lack of it.

Posted by jonsligh at 11:02 PM | Comments (11)

October 02, 2004

2 mammals and a rising sun, 8:37 a.m.

All’s quiet in the living room, except for the raucous purring of the half-grown cat on my lap. I wade through the sea of thoughts until the gradually increasing volume of the purrs commandeers my mind. The black cloud over my head, (just like the ones in the cartoons, in case you’re wondering) immediately dispels.

I look around me. The early sun sprays light all around the room, with me, and the cat, caught in the middle of the splattering sunbeams. I look down at the creature: like cold butter in a hot skillet, she steadily melts, sprawling out all over my lap. And for the time, I play the glutton, and stuff myself overflowing with the simple pleasures of the moment. Soon I’ll move on to practical and dull things; but for now, I’ll gleefully ignore the duties of life, and gorge on the sensory smorgasbord around me.

Posted by jonsligh at 10:04 AM | Comments (12)