Sunday, May 25, 2008

Various Musings of Mine Own (2006-present)

Woody Allen wonders aloud, "What makes life worth living?" 
I say: the scorched feeling of my body after a day in the sun. Before I realize that I am now, sunburnt. My hair and my skin are salty and dry, and all I want to do is to drive home with the windows down as the wind blows in my face.
I say: viewing a riveting, emotionally exhausting live performance of the musical kind-- that reminds you that yes, you can feel and yes, you too want something more, something better, something beautiful. 
i say: love, the eternal kind. 

Interests: staying up late, accompanied by candlelight and music. I wish I had a record player. I could use the worn quality of the melodies and harmonies that would run alongside my cogitations. My weighty cogitations.

Big, soft, breathing eyes. Follow the path to the source. I like you the best when you are undone. Undo me, too. My hands run over your broad back. I have freckles on mine, too. Let us live by the morning light. 

The moonlight dancing atop the darkened waters. I miss the Atlantic and its billowing waves. 

It may be a selfish thought, but sometimes I believe that I am the only one alive out there. I too, get sucked up into the idle rhythm of everyday life.   Is anyone alive out there?

The sun has been shining brightly for the past few days. I love London drenched in light.

"The wonder of these sights impels me into night-walks about her crowded streets. I often shed tears in the Strand from fullness of joy at so much life." Charles Lamb

... you must be able to step outside of yourself somehow. To possess the ability to look differently. 

I finally read Slaughterhouse Five. Kurt, I know how you feel. If I ever had the chance to meet him, I'd have liked to give him a hug. I would not say a word. I'd simply walk toward him and I would wrap my arms around him. I would then step back, gaze into his soul, and then wordlessly walk away. 

Outromancing the romantics, once again. I like to listen to the wind and the sounds rising from the street in these small hours of the morning. 

Friday, May 16, 2008

Hearts of Gold, Hearts of Grass

"Heart of Gold," a mighty song. I love the down home twang and its ebbs and flows. The lyrics are not of language one cannot comprehend.  Today, it has been on repeat. 


Thursday, May 15, 2008

Brand New Feelings!

Last night Andrew and I attended Nick Scapa's birthday party at the Honor Roll house. It was not so much a birthday party for me; I would have described it as "an end of an era" party. I do not mean this in a defeatist or exceptionally sad way... but last night I felt affected. Strong hands pulled my heart in all directions. Hands that were not my own. The hands of many, fine, cosmic spirits. I want to now review the moments in my mind as I listen to CoCoRosie's "The Adventures of Ghosthorse and Stillborn."

Joe Rehmer, "Goodbye, Forever." His words cut me, man. My eyes began to spark tears. I cannot think about such a phrase as "Goodbye, Forever." I want to see Joe again! I want to continue being friends. I am not going to let a false conception govern our to-be longterm relationship. The term "forever" hurts. So does "Goodbye." After conversation with Joe Rehmer last night, I began to experience the pain that comes with leaving your friends.

17 years old: I left Long Island with no problems. I didn't cry when I left my friends, my family... I hate cliches but this one is making me laugh on the inside, "The time was right for picking." As my former life friends and I move into our new lives, I haven't felt sad. When we talk, I recognize that we are not what we were, and that's ok. I have yet to produce tears over their and my latest existence.

But Joe! We haven't been "friends" for very long at all, but his absence affects me. He is a strong individual and he is the first of my friends to leave.

"Goodbye for a While."

Last night my connections with certain people were realized. When Richard and I stood around in a group laughing and reminiscing PANAMA, I felt something strong and very real and in tune with a person who I had not necessarily felt a shared fire with. Our fire burns for Panama. We were connected and connected we shall be.

And Geneva! Geneva and I have been friends...we were friends but we never had a personal relationship... until the other night: she saw something and I saw the same and we shared intuitive recognition! I will feel her absence, too.

I love my friends. I don't think I ever felt true love for a group of people before. I love my friends for the stuff they are made of. I love their stuff.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Winter in April

Last night our home smelled of winter. I am not sure if the source was the incense burning in my room, the pomegranate molasses I made over the fire, or the open windows through which the cool air effortlessly entered. 

Saturday, April 5, 2008

what am i doing? what am i going to do?

i am going to stalk around my house for a few more minutes repeating "what am i doing, what am i going to do"... and then i am going to go watch lots of japanese films at the japanese film festival. oof. 

Friday, April 4, 2008

the shortcomings of language

i love to write; language cannot express that which the mind yearns to. language falls short of feeling. real writers envelop feeling and invoke feeling by means of their words. i can tell you that i want to give you a hug. i can tell you that i need to give you a hug. these strings of words may sound trite or banal. i am sure if i dropped the words and instead used my eyes, my hands, my body, you would understand. words are often misunderstood. i often misunderstand words. i think too literally and expect people to say exactly what they mean when i don't always say exactly what i mean. i wish i could give you a hug. 

abandon language! abandon language...

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Tea Leaves, Virgins, Monkeys, Tea Houses































One of the most exciting professors at UM (a man who is the chair of the Classics Department) loves tea. He is a tea connoisseur. He will not drink tea from a bag, he will not drink tea from America. He orders his tea from China and/or Taiwan. He has a tea blog. He called the Religious Studies Department from Hong Kong in order to tell me how delicious the tea was and how he doesn't want to leave his leaves and his friends. Upon his return, my friend Navied and I were engaging him in a teas-cussion and he told some Asian teas are marketed like so: "These leaves were handpicked by virgins." "Monkey-picked" tea. There is a legend that the most exquisite leaves in existence are located on this one cliff that humans can simply NOT get to. Therefore, a few keen men taught monkeys to acquire that which they wanted. How they taught the monkeys to pick the leaves and bring them back? Neither Kirby, Navied, nor I can answer you this question. I told the two about an incredible tea place I had been to with Andrew: "Dushanbe Tea House" in Boulder. Kirby lost it and asked for the pictures I had taken. Look above, reader. Boulder, CO is a sister-city with Dushabe in Tajikistan. In celebration of their union, Mayor Maksud Ikramov decided to build the jonint. It is incredible. Andrew and I spent lunchtime talking, kicking eachothers feet, sipping delicious tea (i had blueberry tea) and sharing samosas. Reader, if you have the opportunity to go to Dushanbe Tea House in Boulder... then you go to Dushanbe Tea House in Boulder.