Comments on: THOMAS SULLIVAN: FIVE SENSES PLUS OR “WHAT WAS THAT YOU SAID, GOD?”

By: Thomas Sullivan

Thomas Sullivan — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 00:20:10 +0000

Wish I could claim planning for that bridge-essay connection, Anne, but truth be told the two just fell in together like falling leaves from neighboring trees (hmmm, Evergreen will like that). Your restlessness may have you feeling out of sync with life at the moment, but out of such disquiet comes the next stage in your life. You’re not afraid to ride the waves and so you won’t miss the tide of which you speak. I like to think that always looking for the poetry, as you obviously do, gets rewarded full-time at some point. My life is there 99% of the time. But it doesn’t happen without throwing something over. So keep pushing against the cocoon and soon enough you’ll have your limitless sky. And thanks much for your kind words.

– Sully

By: Thomas Sullivan

Thomas Sullivan — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 00:06:06 +0000

And, oh yeah, loved that movie. Lee Marvin can’t sing worth a damn, of course, which made his efforts as soothing as groaning ship’s timbers.

– Sully

By: Thomas Sullivan

Thomas Sullivan — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 00:04:44 +0000

You have the world to talk to, Janet, the world! And you speak the universal language necessary to the task. Those of us who related to semi-animated things and lower levels of the food chain do so out of our own limitations.

– Sully

By: Thomas "Sully" Sullivan

Thomas "Sully" Sullivan — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 00:02:06 +0000

Just in from an afternoon with Evergreen, Davey. I’m sure he would have said “hi” to you, if he said anything at all. Tell the boy-critter that boring is as boring does. Then lock him OUT of the house. How much trouble can he get into in a town that’s guarded by turtles on a log at the city limits? And thanks for the sterling comments.

– Sully

By: Anne

Anne — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 23:44:09 +0000

Sully,

1st thanks for the bridge picture. It reached inside my soul’s memory and made me promise I will dig my skis out and take a few more runs.

Walter Mitty is my closet writer aspiration that gets unleashed when I read your essays. If Emily Dickinson hadn’t already said “I dream of possibilities” then I would have said it. That’s why I talk to trees too – damn they’re old and who knows. It pains me to put hooks in them or damage them unnecessary, but one has to admit hammocks beckon. And speaking of between trees, there’s a lot one learns from listenning to the banter between the bored. It’s the new catch all phrase plea to figure out why life is not working for me right now – I’ve shut down due to lack of programming, I’m frustrated with the way things are going but too defeated to think for myself, I’ve quit on everyone and everything because I need to be happy and don’t realize it’s an ebb and tide feeling, etc. It’s not that some people aren’t the candle snuffers of all original thought and meaningful connection, It ‘s just that I can’t believe the plague of boredom that permeates our society doesn’t have a meaningful cry beneath it. Listening to the quiet of the world, looking with writer’s eyes to catch the beat of what is unobserved, awakening the bored and find grace in writing. (Walter get out of the closet even just to answer Sully.) Thanks for the bridge picture. It seems symbolicly connected to your essay. Is that perfection, intention or a vision of a road less travelled?

By: Janet Berliner

Janet Berliner — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 21:16:06 +0000

P.S. Courtesy of Lerner & Loewe in “Paint Your Wagon”

I talk to the trees
But they don’t listen to me
I talk to the stars
But they never hear me

The breeze hasn’t time
To stop, and hear what I say
I talk to them all
In vain

But suddenly, my words
Reach someone elses ear
At someone elses heart
Strings too

I tell you my dreams
And while you’re listening to me
I suddenly see them
Come true

I can see us some April night
Looking out across a rollin’ farm
Having supper in the candlelight
Walking later, arm in arm

Then I’ll tell you
How I pass the day
Thinking mainly how
The night would be

Then I’ll try to find
The words to say
All the things you
Mean to me

I tell you my dreams
And while you’re
Listening to me
I suddenly see them
Come true

–Janet

By: Janet Berliner

Janet Berliner — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 21:06:35 +0000

I have a friend who talks to tree frogs. Once a year, on her birthday (the same day as mine), she gets drunk and they talk back. I have an ex-friend to whom dogs talk. Incessantly. You, Sully, have your tree. I feel positively deprived–or is that depraved? Am I not worthy, huh? Huh? –Janet

By: Dave Wilson

Dave Wilson — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 20:35:22 +0000

Just the image of Sully chatting up a poetic tree is enough for me… and you must now draw the conclusion that said tree is much more inspirational and useful than the ‘purposely boring people” (: You described most teenagers when you attributed to them the oft-repeated “I’m bored” quote…have to show this to the boy-critter this evening…of course, he’ll roll his eyes and plop back onto the couch…

The problem with a short essay from you, Mr. Sullivan, is that it has to be read MUCH more slowly than other things…and ends up being a relationship, rather than a chance conversation in the park. I enjoyed it immensely

DNW

By: Thomas Sullivan

Thomas Sullivan — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 17:47:25 +0000

Footnote: R.C. Jones (Amalgam) is off-line for a while, as his home computer is on Internet strike. Drat. Love his comments.

– Sully

By: Thomas Sullivan

Thomas Sullivan — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 17:46:19 +0000

Hey, Flamingo Frank, I have talked to your brother who talks to plants. I don’t know what plant he thought I was, but passion flower and love-lies-bleeding run in the family. Maybe locoweed too. In any case, your comment about philosophers takes root. Whatever happened to the rennaissance man?

– Sully