Taste The Sound [on KS Friday]

Toadshade trillium. Say it out loud and taste the sounds. Toadshade trillium. Yummy words worthy of e.e. cummings.

I am working in a tech space and keep a document on my desktop: Terms in this Unknown Land. Tech folk speak in acronyms, PAI and SMB, SERP and TAM. Although my colleagues are mostly left-brainers, they are remarkably poetic in their language, peppering their acronym-speak with tasty terms like “cluster calculations” and “stemmings.” I admit to losing the sense of the conversation in the sound. They are, despite the stereotype, passionate and creative and unconsciously poetic. “Plots a curve of probability.”

Toadshade trillium. Plots a curve of probability. Forget the meaning and taste the sound! What might Mary Oliver have done with those syllables!

My lesson this week: I cannot stand and work at my computer all day. I can do the standing (I have a stand-up desk) but staring at a screen eventually shuts down my brain. Across from my stand-up desk is my drafting table. I think better with big pieces of paper and a pencil and then translate back to the computer. I need to move to think but that’s only part of the lesson. When at the drafting table I’m more likely to take things less seriously. I free myself. I get snarky and funny and scribble and draw big arrows and make fun of myself and the logjam in my thinking. I play.

And, while I play, I talk aloud, and hear the sounds of the shapes that I draw. Poetry and motion. Taste the movement. One and the same. Free the thinking. It’s enough to scare the dog but it’s liberating to my kinesthetic necessity. I scribble notes in every direction and dance back and forth between word and image. Consequently, I produce better work.

Thank goodness I finally tasted a few word-sounds that sent me tumbling into a productive scribble dance.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TOADSHADE TRILLIUM

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Scare Yourself Silly [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Our house is old and, when I first moved in, I had to learn to discern the many sounds an old house can make. Two sounds in particular woke me each night and sent visions of intruders dancing through my imagination. The first was the clunk of the radiator. The second was BabyCat walking around upstairs. Our heavy-footed cat sounded like a man in boots walking from room to room. I woke Kerri more than once with my startled, “What’s That?”

“It’s the cat,” she’d laugh, and roll over.

Sometimes the radiator still gets me. There’s very little warning. The creeeeak sounds like a foot on a floorboard. And, since it is my job to fetch the midnight snack, in a creaky old house, deep into the dark and cold of an October night, the creeeak-clunk is resonate with the slide-thump of scary stories from my youth. I have a vivid imagination. I can scare myself silly.

Happy Halloween.

read Kerri’s SMACK-DAB blog post

smack-dab. © 2021 kerrianddavid.com