New Post
Okay, I will do a new post, to keep this space active. New post, not a post in the new cabinet. No, no. But a post, something beyond the kinds of posts people often talk about when they say post. There is post as in post office: that I can work with--I carry stamps in my wallet always. I used to post a lot of manuscripts to journals, and they would require a SASE in order to post back the responses. And if they indeed posted something back to me, it was likely to be a rejection, because for submissions, the good news often comes as a phone call, and lately, via email. I don't post manuscrupts by snail mail anymore. I only email, or upload it in their dropbox, and they still post when they respond, they often post a standard rejection, which then generates an email. I don't like this type of post, which deals with letters or manuscripts.
Lamp post. There are no lamp posts in Mototi, but a few homes glow at night--two or three homes that have electricity, and the owners are proud. One of them, a common fixture at the local bottle store, told me that he rents his city house and makes a living that way, plus he gets checks for his retirement. I told him he lived a life more way more comfortable than mine, a dream life, the Mototi Dream.
The secondary school I attended, still named Gwavachemai (mispelled by Cambridge on my certificate as Gwvchemai), has a planted a post at the turn-off from the Zvishavane-Murowa road which passes by Mototi Primary School (which I attended too). This post shows a sign with the secondary school's name, spelled correctly. The school also has electricity, courtesy to Murowa Diamond Mine. So teachers now do electronic things: they can, for instance, use computers, and when the computer lab finally arrives, perhaps they can post grades online, and their students would go to the computer lab and check grades. But who knows, with more homes getting electrified, if the grid for the area increases, and somehow the US dollar gets in the wallets of these village folks, students may begin to be able to view the posted grades from home, that is, if they get to have laptops, and a connection to the internet. Or some already may be able to do so, through their phones, if they can afford bundles of web minutes, and phones that are smart. But I didnt see many smart phones when I was in Mototi last time. So the post that really dominates the area, is the vacant post of technology, which needs first to be established as new, and be occupied by a new person, or entity, who or which ensures that the it leads to a diversification of posts.
New post. This is a new post, to keep this space going. A post can also be the process of posting. A message though a phone, a text message even. Like the one recently posted by my niece in Mototi, a short three-line message bearing three words: I was divorced. A short message that can easily fit on a plackard, to post by the road side, or outside the home, declaring that the reason she's back home is things didn't work with her husband. She's now posted at home, bound to turn out indolent,or change her life. That's not the kind of post I have in mind, yet it exists in the mind.
Then there's this kind of post, a sort of warm up to the process of writing; when you can't think of anything to write, but you set out to post something anyway. You realize as you post something that the writing you dreaded is already happening, and before long, you are on the road again.
Lamp post. There are no lamp posts in Mototi, but a few homes glow at night--two or three homes that have electricity, and the owners are proud. One of them, a common fixture at the local bottle store, told me that he rents his city house and makes a living that way, plus he gets checks for his retirement. I told him he lived a life more way more comfortable than mine, a dream life, the Mototi Dream.
The secondary school I attended, still named Gwavachemai (mispelled by Cambridge on my certificate as Gwvchemai), has a planted a post at the turn-off from the Zvishavane-Murowa road which passes by Mototi Primary School (which I attended too). This post shows a sign with the secondary school's name, spelled correctly. The school also has electricity, courtesy to Murowa Diamond Mine. So teachers now do electronic things: they can, for instance, use computers, and when the computer lab finally arrives, perhaps they can post grades online, and their students would go to the computer lab and check grades. But who knows, with more homes getting electrified, if the grid for the area increases, and somehow the US dollar gets in the wallets of these village folks, students may begin to be able to view the posted grades from home, that is, if they get to have laptops, and a connection to the internet. Or some already may be able to do so, through their phones, if they can afford bundles of web minutes, and phones that are smart. But I didnt see many smart phones when I was in Mototi last time. So the post that really dominates the area, is the vacant post of technology, which needs first to be established as new, and be occupied by a new person, or entity, who or which ensures that the it leads to a diversification of posts.
New post. This is a new post, to keep this space going. A post can also be the process of posting. A message though a phone, a text message even. Like the one recently posted by my niece in Mototi, a short three-line message bearing three words: I was divorced. A short message that can easily fit on a plackard, to post by the road side, or outside the home, declaring that the reason she's back home is things didn't work with her husband. She's now posted at home, bound to turn out indolent,or change her life. That's not the kind of post I have in mind, yet it exists in the mind.
Then there's this kind of post, a sort of warm up to the process of writing; when you can't think of anything to write, but you set out to post something anyway. You realize as you post something that the writing you dreaded is already happening, and before long, you are on the road again.
Comments