Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
ta-da!
The T has been teaching herself to read Kannada. (The script, not the language. She still does not know what half the things she reads mean. :( So sad.)
This is just to say that she has arrived! Today she read Kannada BACKWARDS THROUGH THE REARVIEW MIRROR MAY WE HAVE SOME APPLAUSE PLEASE LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
P.S. There's a half-written post or two in the offing, one of which was started already and might have a publish date earlier than today owing to the reference to the date in the first line. O Kind Readers, if you do exist, do please pretend that I'm not demented and crazy and attention-deficient and in love with inappropriate people; and go reads them old posts after I posts them? ^_^
Thanks ya.
This is just to say that she has arrived! Today she read Kannada BACKWARDS THROUGH THE REARVIEW MIRROR MAY WE HAVE SOME APPLAUSE PLEASE LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
P.S. There's a half-written post or two in the offing, one of which was started already and might have a publish date earlier than today owing to the reference to the date in the first line. O Kind Readers, if you do exist, do please pretend that I'm not demented and crazy and attention-deficient and in love with inappropriate people; and go reads them old posts after I posts them? ^_^
Thanks ya.
Friday, March 14, 2008
the day i said i was reconciled.
There is lightning in the air and the smell of rain in my face, and all I think of is that there must be poetry somewhere that can slip words around the way I feel. I only wish I knew it. Or could write it.
For even though I spent three hours this morning being lost and footsore in the middle of a wilderness missing lectures I wanted badly to see and consoling myself with the thought of someone I could write letters to again, today was a day that ended in the taste of thunder and an expansion of my heart. And any day that ends well is worth every awful moment you put into it.
People talk too much, sometimes. They talk at you and at you and never stop to taste the shape of the words their audience hears. I wish I knew how to talk of things outside the moments they occupy.
I watched two men use a tree as a makeshift telephone pole because the one servicing their little town lay in two pieces on the ground. I walked three kilometres wishing I weren't; and part of the way I walked barefoot because my feet hurt too much. I built a brick wall while the masons sat on the edge of a well and laughed at me. I sat in a room with ten other people and watched myself be inspired. I sat in a car with strangers and had my handwriting analyzed. I smiled at a baby on the bus, and she turned her face to me and I saw she was blind in one eye. I watched people throw lit balls into the air while Chris Martin sang Sparks into my ears.
Somebody spoke to me today, and suddenly I wanted to write again.
I take every feeling and drip it out from my head - and still I feel only the inadequacy of the words I craft.
Somehow, though, it doesn't feel like the end of the world - even though I would have thought it would.
Why doesn't it?
For even though I spent three hours this morning being lost and footsore in the middle of a wilderness missing lectures I wanted badly to see and consoling myself with the thought of someone I could write letters to again, today was a day that ended in the taste of thunder and an expansion of my heart. And any day that ends well is worth every awful moment you put into it.
People talk too much, sometimes. They talk at you and at you and never stop to taste the shape of the words their audience hears. I wish I knew how to talk of things outside the moments they occupy.
I watched two men use a tree as a makeshift telephone pole because the one servicing their little town lay in two pieces on the ground. I walked three kilometres wishing I weren't; and part of the way I walked barefoot because my feet hurt too much. I built a brick wall while the masons sat on the edge of a well and laughed at me. I sat in a room with ten other people and watched myself be inspired. I sat in a car with strangers and had my handwriting analyzed. I smiled at a baby on the bus, and she turned her face to me and I saw she was blind in one eye. I watched people throw lit balls into the air while Chris Martin sang Sparks into my ears.
Somebody spoke to me today, and suddenly I wanted to write again.
I take every feeling and drip it out from my head - and still I feel only the inadequacy of the words I craft.
Somehow, though, it doesn't feel like the end of the world - even though I would have thought it would.
Why doesn't it?
Friday, March 7, 2008
anti-interlude
I haven't lost my temper for more than three seconds in four years; and now, suddenly, I'm boiling poison mad and I don't know why.
Everything bothers me. It bothers me that I'm mad. It bothers me that I have no reason to be mad. It bothers me that eleven people have not replied to letters I wrote them. It bothers me that I don't have a job. It bothers me that my phone is a piece of junk. It bothers me that every second person I meet is an idiot. It bothers me to be near people who fawn and grovel and lie with their faces. It bothers me that most of the people I call friend are not worthy of the epithet. It bothers me that I give so much and get nothing in return. It bothers me to see myself treated with a double standard. It bothers me that I might have double standards of my own. It bothers me that nothing seems worth it. It bothers me that I think of the same person when I wake up every day. It bothers me that people have borrowed my books and haven't returned them. It bothers me that I have books at home that I haven't returned, for whatever reason. It bothers me that I haven't read half the books in the house. It bothers me that we don't have enough money. It bothers me that I think money is important. It bothers me that it probably is. It bothers me not to have a grand dream. It bothers me that I hate the city I grew up in more with every day I spend in it. It bothers me that people disgust me. It bothers me that everyone is busy. It bothers me to imagine that nobody knows what they're doing. The constant rape of the planet bothers me. Pollution, garbage, self-righteous assholes who don't give a shit - they all make me want to break things and burn things and destroy things. It bothers me that I can't break or burn or destroy things because...that would be wanton and selfish and wrong.
It bothers me to be alive...
...in this space and time with all of you.
Everything bothers me. It bothers me that I'm mad. It bothers me that I have no reason to be mad. It bothers me that eleven people have not replied to letters I wrote them. It bothers me that I don't have a job. It bothers me that my phone is a piece of junk. It bothers me that every second person I meet is an idiot. It bothers me to be near people who fawn and grovel and lie with their faces. It bothers me that most of the people I call friend are not worthy of the epithet. It bothers me that I give so much and get nothing in return. It bothers me to see myself treated with a double standard. It bothers me that I might have double standards of my own. It bothers me that nothing seems worth it. It bothers me that I think of the same person when I wake up every day. It bothers me that people have borrowed my books and haven't returned them. It bothers me that I have books at home that I haven't returned, for whatever reason. It bothers me that I haven't read half the books in the house. It bothers me that we don't have enough money. It bothers me that I think money is important. It bothers me that it probably is. It bothers me not to have a grand dream. It bothers me that I hate the city I grew up in more with every day I spend in it. It bothers me that people disgust me. It bothers me that everyone is busy. It bothers me to imagine that nobody knows what they're doing. The constant rape of the planet bothers me. Pollution, garbage, self-righteous assholes who don't give a shit - they all make me want to break things and burn things and destroy things. It bothers me that I can't break or burn or destroy things because...that would be wanton and selfish and wrong.
It bothers me to be alive...
...in this space and time with all of you.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
interlude #230
I love
that the stray dogs i befriend on the road cry when i leave them and walk on.
that i can walk up to a crowd of old men laughing in a park and join them.
that i will not hesitate to throw away a stranger's cardboard cartons or fetch a stranger's ball or point out that a stranger's headlights are turned on, merely because it doesn't cost me anything to do any of those things.
that i will write letters to people i love without their ever asking me to. and that i will write them on real paper and with real handwriting and little doodles in the margin :) and post them on my morning walk.
that i can love people with such abandon. even when abandoned.
that i miss the words when they're gone; and that i always love them when they're here.
that it takes so little to calm me down.
that i can find beauty and wonder in little things.
that i have excellent spatial skills.
that, when i can sing without thinking, my singing can bring me closer to god.
that i can talk about god and not cringe.
that a morning walk can open my mind right along with my nasal passages.
him. you. yes, you. don't pretend you don't know.
:)
that the stray dogs i befriend on the road cry when i leave them and walk on.
that i can walk up to a crowd of old men laughing in a park and join them.
that i will not hesitate to throw away a stranger's cardboard cartons or fetch a stranger's ball or point out that a stranger's headlights are turned on, merely because it doesn't cost me anything to do any of those things.
that i will write letters to people i love without their ever asking me to. and that i will write them on real paper and with real handwriting and little doodles in the margin :) and post them on my morning walk.
that i can love people with such abandon. even when abandoned.
that i miss the words when they're gone; and that i always love them when they're here.
that it takes so little to calm me down.
that i can find beauty and wonder in little things.
that i have excellent spatial skills.
that, when i can sing without thinking, my singing can bring me closer to god.
that i can talk about god and not cringe.
that a morning walk can open my mind right along with my nasal passages.
him. you. yes, you. don't pretend you don't know.
:)
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
terribly depressing for a bit, what?
Well, certain people can do that to you.
Especially when you want to tell them every random thing that happened to you but they refuse to be around.
sigh.
I will try turning over new leaves on the birthday.
Especially when you want to tell them every random thing that happened to you but they refuse to be around.
sigh.
I will try turning over new leaves on the birthday.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
more answers
signs that read "Old No. -". strangers on the bus who correct my kannada handwriting. spanish classes. finding tristram shandy for rs. 50 at a used bookshop i haven't visited in two years. parks. directions. the things i do on the road that make people stare. the things that make me smile. the things that make me cry. times that i lose my temper. times that i don't. every book i read.every poem i like. every poem i hate. every poem i almost write. every fight i'm almost in. sunsets. sunrises. walks along the road. houses with gardens. foreign films with subtitles.
forty-five seconds out of every sixty.
ask me how i am to let it go?
forty-five seconds out of every sixty.
ask me how i am to let it go?