Another Reaction

of a poem called "Susie Asado" by Gertrude Stein

Like the fragmented, disrupted pieces of unrelated images and things, ideas that are on the brink of forming, random random objects and images of them, this poem was a self-constructing mosaic that was forming. I read it at first, and immediately disliked it, but after reading it again I was able to look at it for what it is and appreciate it for being so puzzling. I like to think that my thoughts are relevant, and one will link to another coherently like a chain that builds itself into a band. But, that's usually not the case. It's often spontaneous and uncalled for, so relative to what I may have seen or heard or felt or smelled. Sometimes your on something, like coffee, and sometimes insignificant objects like pots and nails and trays have some sort of value at the given point in time. But it doesn't have to make sense, just because I said so. I can take these broken parts of glass from bottles and bowls, plates and cups and create a picture, to create something someone can recognize or will never make out. In the end, what matters is that I've created.