Men of a certain Age, say, the Enlightenment, have often mentioned that certain activities, like sitting on a hillside or eating a small tart, “free the mind to wander.” I want my mind to wander, too, because I feel bogged down by something, and I think maybe it’s the troubles of language. My time and effort spent searching for signs in every word or sentence seems to be getting a bit excessive, and I find myself longing for some opacity—which I think might achieve by giving up this impulse of interpretation.
Yesterday, someone pointed to a sentence that read “the swan is a bitch” and pointed in my direction. It was difficult not to interpret this gesture as an association between myself and the bitch-swan. But in the end, my new strategy saved me some pain. And maybe I will be a swan for Halloween—I have a long neck and so all I really have to do is wear a white dress.
Now, I look at my left palm and, moving from right to left, fold down my pinky, then hold it while I do the same to my ring finger, then my pointer and finally my thumb. But without my intention, my middle finger can only twitch and squirm in its wilting state.