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EPISODE · Jun 13, 2018 · 9 MIN

Spiral Jetty Squirrel

from fieldnotes62 · host fieldnotes62

Squirrel. Sunday, June 19,2016. That private road that runs up between the highway and what used to be a quarry. Hit by a car. Nature, Art, then Commerce- a timeless triptych. Observations and apologies. There are hundreds of different types of animals that you’ve never seen sleeping. Who designed our Sunday routines? Family, God, and commerce. Fun in the sun. I feel like I dropped out of society somewhere around the age of 6. As a kid I remember watching on the news and reading in Mad Magazine about “tune in, turn on, and drop out.” Only one of those appealed to me. What did Walt Whitman do on a Sunday? Did Emily Dickinson take a solitary walks around Amherst, killing time until supper? Did she outlive her father? Did she ever go swimming? Trying to describe the built world is a tedious battle. Where are all the skeletons of all the animals that have died? Why aren’t we constantly stumbling over little ribs and skulls and femurs no bigger than parts in a model kit? I wasn’t made for the summer- by the beginning of April I’m already longing for October. Like a big, clumsy, lumbering, depressed corallary to a butterfly, my season is short- who knows how I get through to another year. Oh, well, not much to do but feed the rabbits and listen to the wind.

Episode metadata supplied by the publisher feed · Published Jun 13, 2018

Squirrel. Sunday, June 19,2016. That private road that runs up between the highway and what used to be a quarry. Hit by a car. Nature, Art, then Commerce- a timeless triptych. Observations and apologies. There are hundreds of different types of animals that you’ve never seen sleeping. Who designed our Sunday routines? Family, God, and commerce. Fun in the sun. I feel like I dropped out of society somewhere around the age of 6. As a kid I remember watching on the news and reading in Mad Magazine about “tune in, turn on, and drop out.” Only one of those appealed to me. What did Walt Whitman do on a Sunday? Did Emily Dickinson take a solitary walks around Amherst, killing time until supper? Did she outlive her father? Did she ever go swimming? Trying to describe the built world is a tedious battle. Where are all the skeletons of all the animals that have died? Why aren’t we constantly stumbling over little ribs and skulls and femurs no bigger than parts in a model kit? I wasn’t made for the summer- by the beginning of April I’m already longing for October. Like a big, clumsy, lumbering, depressed corallary to a butterfly, my season is short- who knows how I get through to another year. Oh, well, not much to do but feed the rabbits and listen to the wind.

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Squirrel. Sunday, June 19,2016. That private road that runs up between the highway and what used to be a quarry. Hit by a car. Nature, Art, then Commerce- a timeless triptych. Observations and apologies. There are hundreds of different types of...

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