The mail was late yesterday, but among the usual junk was a package containing two books from the Library of America — one being the volume by Henry James mentioned recently, Collected Travel Writings: The Continent; the other a collection of early work by Gertrude Stein, Writings: 1903-1932. And so the stacks grow a little higher and a little deeper. . I slept remarkably well last night, and woke up […]
As soon as I entered the building, I forgot the name of the person I was there to see. Thinking it would help me remember, I went up and down the halls, looking at the names on the doors, but none seemed familiar. By the time I’d checked them all, and assuming I was now late for my appointment, I stopped to ask for help in a reception area that […]
If you find it difficult to appreciate so many miracles, be wise and take joy in the one. . Once, in this very room, I came upon a family of sleeping elephants. I curled up amongst them and became part of their dream. When we finally awoke, you were watching, hesitating. . It’s a big world out there. It’s only small between our ears. It’s a small world out there. […]
I awoke early this morning feeling it was time to start the day. Then I read the kitchen clock — 2:58. So I stretched out on the floor again and slept for what felt like a good solid hour. The clock read 3:31. Ten minutes later, I was out in the street for a run. . A raft of lemons adrift at sea. The funny way you look at me. […]
I’m not only a floor-sweeper, I’m a floor-sleeper. And I’ve never swept, or slept, better. I sweep my dreams, those I can remember, and I sleep my broom. We both are kind to dustpans. Over the years, I’ve found all mattresses to be back-breakers. Finally, it dawned on me that humans aren’t really meant to sleep that way. Now I can stretch out anywhere, on any firm surface, drift off […]
Having nothing to say, having no message to relate — such days are to be savored. What is sleep but the flowering of one’s life during the day? What is day but the flowering of one’s sleep? Or, to put it another way, we sleep what we sow. Cleaned the blinds on our seven tall south-facing windows, ahead of bringing in our houseplants for the winter. Read the eighth chapter […]
Sleeping on the floor . . . a gentle rain soaking in . . . . [ 1824 ]
Moss on the ground, moss on the shrubs, moss on the trees. Moss on the sidewalks, moss in the street. I dare not stop. I dare not sleep. Moss on my feet. . [ 1742 ]
A fine school of words, and the fishermen asleep at their nets. . [ 1668 ]
William Michaelian 