Sometimes A lot of times I wonder if any of what I say actually registers. I have this niggling feeling that when I open my mouth, I only think I’m speaking words, but all everyone hears is kshhshshhsjdhfjshjfhjshshsshshshshhhh
[BGmusic: Babel by Mumford and Sons]
Quote for the day:
“I somehow see what’s beautiful in things that are ephemeral
I’m my only friend of mine, and love is just a piece of time in the world.”
- I Thought I Saw Your Face Today, She and Him
[Dear Zooey, you're not that special, everyone's like that doi.]
Totally unrelated photo.
Blog, meet my new dog Noomi. Noomi, meet blog.
My brother asked me some time last month what I thought about beauty, how it exists only in the temporary (e.g. music and poetry–things that are meant to be enjoyed for only a moment). I thought about it for a moment, tried to synthesize what I had been learning in class about beauty and the sublime, and said that maybe it only looks that way because there seems to be a limit on how long humans can hold onto that feeling of captivation.
I think beauty is not something that lies within an object, but is a judgment that is given by an observer. For beauty to be seen, something needs to depart from the humdrum of the every day. Just like a husband cannot be expected to appreciate the beauty in his wife’s face for each moment of their married life, if for every minute of one’s life, one is given a beautiful sunset to look at, the sunset’s beauty will soon lose its effect. In other words, we are easily bored. We are unable to appreciate an object for long periods of time unless there is a conscious effort behind it, unless we push ourselves to see. If we try to look at the world with new eyes every day, keeping ourselves sensitive to its novelty, maybe then can we go beyond boredom and apathy, and be ever struck with beauty.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I haven’t been updating. I’m sorry. Hopefully now that I’ve quit my job I’ll have more time to devote to updating this thing.
Wait – what?
I quit my job, guys! I. Quit. My. Job!!
This Wednesday will be my first day back to school – I’ll be in an MA Creative Writing program, and I am psyched and all kinds of scared. Also, now that my primary source of income is no more, I am virtually penniless yet again. But happy. So far.
That’s all for now, I’ll be back soon.
Wish me luck!
[BGmusic: my brother on the guitar, singing The Beatles' In My Life]
This is a pretty straightforward post. For context, see 2011: The Wishlist
Tumblr cross-over copout post.
Haven’t had enough time/the right mindset to write. Sigh. I’ll get back to you, blog, before the year ends for our year-end review.
[BGmusic: A Little Doubt Goes A Long Way by Reel Big Fish]
Quote for the day:
“I find you stunning but you are running me down.”
- Ingrid Michaelson, Sort Of
On my last beach trip, my girlfriends and I dared each other to see who could walk the furthest into the water, up to the point where the aquamarine suddenly turned deep blue, where shallow water sharply dipped into deadly depths [insert ominous music: tun-tun-tuuuuuun]. The rules of our little game were simple: hold each other’s hands and walk, don’t swim.
[BGmusic: Soft Shock by Yeah Yeah Yeahs]
Quote for the day:
Oh, my weeping willow,
Let your leaves fall and return,
Oh darling, the seasons are your friend.
- Sia, Death by Chocolate
You know what I need right now? I need me some perspective. If I could, I would schedule a rendezvous with myself[/selves?] at ages 11, 13, 18, and 30.
We’d meet up at a pizza place, because, you know, everyone likes pizza. 11-13 will have pepperoni while I look on in disgust. 18 will be awed by my ability to abstain from land-animal meat. [That's all I have to impress her. But more on my underwhelmingness later.]
11 likes to break out into Andrew Lloyd Webber songs when she thinks no-one is looking. She daydreams of running away to the wilderness; of shrinking herself and riding her pet hamster James like a horse; of waking up one day with superhuman abilities; of gatecrashing teddy-bear picnics. 11 knows everything in the world yet has experienced nothing. She feels perpetually underestimated by grown-ups, and will be determined that her opinion – solicited or otherwise – be heard. She will comment on 18’s graphic t-shirt: “I don’t get it.” She will like my hair. And we, the weather-worn, will look at 11, see her self-awareness and misplaced sense of invincibility, and envy.
by Tony Hoagland
Don’t take it personal, they said;
but I did, I took it all quite personal—
the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;
the price of grapefruit and stamps,
the wet hair of women in the rain—
And I cursed what hurt me
and I praised what gave me joy,
the most simple-minded of possible responses.
The government reminded me of my father,
with its deafness and its laws,
and the weather reminded me of my mom,
with her tropical squalls.
Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness
Think first, they said of Talk
Get over it, they said
at the School of Broken Hearts
but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t
believe in the clean break;
I believe in the compound fracture
served with a sauce of dirty regret,
I believe in saying it all
and taking it all back
and saying it again for good measure
while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries
like wheeling birds
and the trees look seasick in the wind.
Oh life! Can you blame me
for making a scene?
You were that yellow caboose, the moon
disappearing over a ridge of cloud.
I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;
barking and barking:
trying to convince everything else
to take it personal too.