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The House-Of-Self Assignment (The problem is I know the house is myself. and I must choose.) You have got to be joking! Weeks go by while one symbol piles upon another in the high tech grail-trek for this assignment. I do not wish to make of myself an architectural Wonder, and the term wonder is most appropriate if one considers style. To chose your self is a full time job if you think about it. (I must be true to form.) Ah wondah, like mah grandmothah shall ah be plantation white and ramblin’ with Doric columns manfulleh holdin’ up the verandah roof? Ah nevah, nevah could! Shall I be federal concrete, reinforced square, solid, mastering the environment by sheer squatitude, a sacreet dominatrix? (Oh, God, I’m losing it in the fourth stanza!) Try again! A Scotts castle would be nice with the family motto fluttering overhead. I, the princess, would survey my holdings and get multiple sinus infections. I live in a mobile home, and that works as long as nothing moves. Are changes allowed in here? Hell no; I’m looking for stability in an oxymoron! I think of a Quaker meetinghouse white and blue, built in Massachusetts before it fragmented into Maine. I respected the simplicity there. God was alive in the sunshine, dancing silently in dust motes of its beaming through the windows. The silence sang with faith, and after the service The building next door was pressed into service of love and giving full of noise and sharing of food from kitchens hard pressed to give to others. I think I’ll be a meetinghouse. |
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