Roots

So I was doing a bit of the requisite self-googling to see just how relevant my blog is to the average American internet user, and discovered a pleasant surprise. This little blog of mine (as I affectionately sing-refer to it as I dream of posts on my way to class) of course, requires a significant amount of nurturing before it can begin to aspire to the kind of first-result-page relevance that requires no specification of quotation marks, but as it turns out, it has an older sister, you could say, that is already there. 

That’s right. The utter lack of preparation with which I faced the blank choose a domain field and my subsequent frantic 1 AM attempt to devise the perfect blog name to both entice a bountiful readership and connote profound beauty actually produced a completely unoriginal thought. The idea of “the perpetual today” (A title which does not yet possess a tag line because of my inability to pinpoint the exact definition of what exactly a perpetual today is (other than the dictionary definition from which I derived it, which declares it to be the never ending present day) and instead choose to constantly meditate on the seemingly simpler battle over whether it should really be articalized at all and if so as The Perpetual Today, My Perpetual Today, or A Perpetual Today) was not actually begotten in that critical moment when I took it upon myself to fill the final void in my WordPress sign up prompter and unleash my eager voice into the blogosphere. Actually its genesis, as I understand from my minimally invasive research on the matter, was in the form of an existential/apocalyptic poem, which I found on the Boston Review website. It’s intended thesis is quite the opposite of my optimistic view of an everlasting present moment, but the fact that two such contrary views grow from the same idea deserves attention. 

So without further ado, here is that poem for your consideration:

It is the Perpetual Today

Virginia Konchan

The pool is empty; no bathers stand nearby.
The beast must be glorified and so each bristle stands out
on its raised, humped back.

The pool must be glorified and so each aquamarine tile glistens, having
been scrubbed, before the photograph was taken,
with bleach.

It is the perpetual today, that which has historians running
through empty fields in white coats,
taking the pulse of the world . . .

The beast breathes silently, exhaling steam from its nostrils.
The crowd maintains its distance and its composure:
how like a crowd.

The beast maintains its beastliness: how like a beast. That which
is wild will remain wild.

The last doctrine is that of redistribution of matter.
The last item is a stick, and, at the end of the stick,
a soul.

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