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. 

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. 

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...