I connect you to the words that connect you
to yourself.
You already know the words.
You already know the words to everything you are ever going to write.
You have already repurposed 26 letters into tens of thousands of expressions of hundreds of thousands of ideas.
You’ve already said what you know how to say, and now you want to say something new, something different, something you can feel but can’t quite put into words.
I’m Paula, & I like metaphors. I’m a writer, teacher, professor, Gen-Xer, cat-lover, thrifter, organizer/reorganizer, planner, & change-maker. I am a wife & mother. And the chief poetry officer of capturingdevice.com.
Welcome to my web, my capturing device, my frayed asterisk at the corner.
Capturing Device, the website and the blog, is for me what I hope it will also be for you—poetic license to rewrite myself (yourself, ourselves) on the world. As a poet, teacher, & changemaker, I capture the everyday, every day & give it back in startling & familiar ways.
We already know the words. We just need to find the ones we want and put them to hard use.
Giving sagacious women poetic license to rewrite themselves on the world.
But do I have to write a blog?
Some words feature their ugly with a sound and mouth feel that lingers after the word is gone (sludge, gusset, fetid). Like acid colors and triangle patterns in nature, they warn you to stay away.
Others engage the sickly boniness of their aristocratic inbreeding (pulchritude, bucolic, effulgence) to simply scare you off & save them from doing work. And some are linguistic carrion flowers that lure you in with their liquid sibilance before springing their deadly denotations (acquiesce, hirsute, silverfish).
But a word like blog doesn’t threaten or disdain or tease. It doesn’t do anything but sit, like a tepid lump of beige (not even griege)—unformed, flabby, & tired.
Blog is the sole-surviving syllable of a shantytown portmanteau: weblog. Blog has survivor’s guilt. It’s a purposely ugly word, blog. There has to be something better.
So today, and probably tomorrow, I will explore other words to denote and connote this weblog of musings, missives, and meanderings. This confluence of ephemera, this commonplace, this capturing device.
Not complete but drawing your attention, marking out a space. It is violent, strategic, and imprisoning. It is beautiful, vulnerable, and strong.
Eudaemonia
The business of me sees value in what others overlook and knows that nothing—no, nothing—happens as expected and everything—yes, everything—hatches exactly as it should.
221 years of brooding
But the business of me is to witness and capture. And I cannot wait. I plan to spend the six weeks the cicadas are alive outside lavishing in the sound bath of cicada song 200 years in the making.
Hoarding language
While I am not, as far as I know, a computer program, I also have a limited audience. But in the business of me, I am my own audience and need to hear myself speak the words I possess.
A pound of flesh
If an employer wants me to travel to their office and sit in their chair and drink their Kool-Aid, I am going to charge a premium for that service.
The business of me sees value in what others overlook and knows that nothing—no, nothing—happens as expected and everything—yes, everything—hatches exactly as it should.