Saturday, November 29, 2014


Looking toward downtown San Francisco from Fort Point
My Mom used the prase "location, location" as code that a house was lovely but where it was built, lacked.

Unlike to the right, where clouds are finely situated.  And the rocks, too.  As well situated as that particular word set in a poem.  As a persimmon in a salad.

Location is in the eye, in the ear, in the taste.

1 comment:

  1. Finishing up a sandwich of tomato and advocado on rye, one contemplates the combinations which winter seems to welcome. Beach and rain. Blanket and book. Fire and water. Warmth and chill. Chill leads to loneliness, or to a well mixed martini, or a well-thumbed book, or the blatant boredom of a cat's yawn. All in all, location is in the everywhere...linguists like to nail it down to the unmalleable parts of speech. Perhaps sculptors might chisel in a little location here and there, in the chin, or chest, or back. When I think of location, I think of elocution for some reason. The locating of words in one's repetoire, the choice as an act of will rather than intuition. I'm not sure either side of the coin is more flippant than the other.

    I'll leave it at that. Or will I?