I am going to India.
The money is paid, the tickets are bought.
One of my best friends is getting married Hindu-style to one of the best men I know, and my parents made sure that I can be there.
So, that's awesome, right?
I just got a job - it pays minimum wage, it involves standing and stuffing inserts into papers for 3 hours one night a week and not more than 12 hours another night.
It is work. It is a paycheck. It is a start.
Last night was the first shift I'd worked since I learned I'm going to India this winter, so I took a moment and told my boss that I will be gone from work for probably 3 weeks over Christmas.
Her response was "Well, I guess I'll have to let you go," which I interpreted as she'd have to fire me and hire someone else for the season (a thing which I kind of feel is not entirely unreasonable) and then, "I usually like to only have one person gone at a time, and I think someone else is going to be gone, but since you're going to India, I guess I'll have to let you."
A) I will quit if it comes down to that.
B) "Let" me go? Are you sure about that?
and then this happened in my brain:
Minimum wage work tends to be the most physically demanding, both in terms of the kind of work that is done and the lack of flexibility there is in doing it. The people who do what I think of as necessary grunt work are treated as replaceable and yet are reminded of their responsibility to show up and work hard and to not expect any of kind respect or meaningful acknowledgment. I have worked many of these jobs, and am forever astonished at the callous ways in which my co-workers and myself have been treated, especially as the timeliness and correctness of the work we did was always somehow crucial to the future lives of other people. They needed us and yet we were inferior and dismissed.
I recognize that a degree in higher education and/or specialized training and skill development get rewarded. I intend to go to graduate school and to develop specialized skills so that I can be rewarded. It is not unfamiliar to me, nor is it to me unfair. I do not intend to ever be at a job where I am not working. I do not intend to pursue a career in something that allows me to ignore it for hours a day or days a month or months a year while still insuring me an unbalanced allotment of power. I intend to work with people whose skills are not necessarily the same as mine, but are respected by me and by each other.
So here is the observation: The people who are not paid enough to provide themselves with adequate (much less desirable) medical treatment are the ones who are also not offered benefits as opposed to the people who can afford to pay for private doctors and full-coverage insurance without having to go through an employer. The people who cannot afford to not work for a few days (much less to travel (more on that later)) are not even offered vacation days. This is an imbalance that seems more than unfair, it seems unspoken. There is nothing that makes me less of a human being than someone who makes 4 times what I do in one day. And yet there is this expectation of disregard and distrust and its resultant anger and despair.
My experience of people is that while we speak words that seem to express our general sentiment that we are all created equal, we all do live lives that continue to reinforce the idea that some of us are more equal than others, and that there is somehow a moral component attached to a paycheck. Better people deserve more nice things to themselves. Those of us who have accepted generous gifts offered by people in our lives are not as good as the people who have provided these things for themselves. (Having said that: it is humbling to accept such gifts, and my gratitude knows no bounds. Travel is the thing that I do when I am the most myself, and nothing can express how happy I am whenever I get to pursue it.)
I would be self-sustaining. I would thrive and in some ways profit. I do not doubt that I've gotten my life into a position where it has to become creative and active and all the things that it needs to be in order to be more than it was 5 months ago. That was sort of the point.
None of this makes me a better person. I would not give up the physical act of work just because it seems that the society in which I live ascribes a certain level of negativity to it.
Much of the frustration in my life over the last several years has been an inability to express discontent in any way that does not seem irrational or self-indulgent or illogical. I am in no way free from my own politics, but that does not mean that I am shackled to a position or perspective. I have no idea what I will do with this slightly less shrieky approach to inhumanity in the world, but I like the idea that I can listen more easily.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Sunday, 12 September 2010
Closets and hidden hypocrisy
Categorical statements and I have a long and occasionally problematic relationship. They tend to make a liar out of me. I resent them fully and yet have not figured out how to get them out of my life.
I found four pairs of high heels today as I was organizing the closet in my office. It was an immediate thought that I would need to issue some kind of retraction to a statement I made in my last blog entry lest I be called out.
Defensive, much? Bitter, many? I can't think of a non-platonic relationship that I've had where we both were not almost perpetually under an ill-fitting microscope. It is a response that I've earned, this anger and bitter.
But it is dull. And it gets nothing done. And it takes up space in the closet.
Friendships take so much time to build that there is no way to go forward without putting a label to something like an inconsistency and moving on. When you can see nothing but those labels, look elsewhere, and don't be too discouraged if someone else does the same. It is not possible to be everyone's beloved.
It is, however, possible to be beloved of your own closet. Which means that the denim capris that make me look like a model in Women's Edition will have to go. As well as the >shorts< ooo, those are not okay.
Not gonna wear it, don't keep it around, right? Not gonna love it, why worry whether you like it or not? Space is at a premium in this world. No need to take up too much.
Although, I do have this brilliant idea for keeping the broken down boxes from getting ew-y and filled with insecty things and too much gross: I will stand them up on their folded ends, supported between shelves or posts or filled boxes, and I will wrap them in a tarp, to keep whatever it is that might just move into the dry and warm attic from making a home in the things that will hold the guts of my home when it comes time to figure out just what that means. Again.
I interact with the stuff of my life, these nerve-endings in shoes and empty boxes cringe every moment, my fingers shake with the case cutter in them, ready to slice open something else, some other internal organ holding only it knows what. Every box could be marked Pandora and it would be less of a Greek Drama. My days begin in a line of fire over the trees out of my window and end in a pool of blood from my own caustic roaming. I wish every day for the this to be done. For something to settle into itself and become the thing called 'How I live'. And yet, much is in the wrong place, much is in no place yet, there are still unopened boxes that much be faced. The ones called "Storage" are for the next life, the next home. I forget how tiring it is to do this. I forget to wash my hands and rub my feet. I forget to always be gentle. I forget to require clarity.
I kept one pair of the high heels. I wore them in a wedding 5 years ago. If I never wear them again, I don't really care. They are a part of my past that I love.
I found four pairs of high heels today as I was organizing the closet in my office. It was an immediate thought that I would need to issue some kind of retraction to a statement I made in my last blog entry lest I be called out.
Defensive, much? Bitter, many? I can't think of a non-platonic relationship that I've had where we both were not almost perpetually under an ill-fitting microscope. It is a response that I've earned, this anger and bitter.
But it is dull. And it gets nothing done. And it takes up space in the closet.
Friendships take so much time to build that there is no way to go forward without putting a label to something like an inconsistency and moving on. When you can see nothing but those labels, look elsewhere, and don't be too discouraged if someone else does the same. It is not possible to be everyone's beloved.
It is, however, possible to be beloved of your own closet. Which means that the denim capris that make me look like a model in Women's Edition will have to go. As well as the >shorts< ooo, those are not okay.
Not gonna wear it, don't keep it around, right? Not gonna love it, why worry whether you like it or not? Space is at a premium in this world. No need to take up too much.
Although, I do have this brilliant idea for keeping the broken down boxes from getting ew-y and filled with insecty things and too much gross: I will stand them up on their folded ends, supported between shelves or posts or filled boxes, and I will wrap them in a tarp, to keep whatever it is that might just move into the dry and warm attic from making a home in the things that will hold the guts of my home when it comes time to figure out just what that means. Again.
I interact with the stuff of my life, these nerve-endings in shoes and empty boxes cringe every moment, my fingers shake with the case cutter in them, ready to slice open something else, some other internal organ holding only it knows what. Every box could be marked Pandora and it would be less of a Greek Drama. My days begin in a line of fire over the trees out of my window and end in a pool of blood from my own caustic roaming. I wish every day for the this to be done. For something to settle into itself and become the thing called 'How I live'. And yet, much is in the wrong place, much is in no place yet, there are still unopened boxes that much be faced. The ones called "Storage" are for the next life, the next home. I forget how tiring it is to do this. I forget to wash my hands and rub my feet. I forget to always be gentle. I forget to require clarity.
I kept one pair of the high heels. I wore them in a wedding 5 years ago. If I never wear them again, I don't really care. They are a part of my past that I love.
Friday, 10 September 2010
Walking home
It is curious to me that as I've gotten older, people have become more and more concerned with how much I walk and when and more and more apt to offer me rides, even when I can see no reason for it.
As a child, I walked home from school almost every day. I know: uphill both ways in snow with no shoes and 100 pounds of books. While there was a slight rise leaving the school, I fully admit that it was downhill the whole way, I mostly forgot my books and my parents were very vigilant about my footwear. Although I was not always good about wearing long pants or tights. It was about a mile and a half, and since I walked at the pace of a stoned snail stuck in molasses, it took about an hour every day.
And No One Protested. No One. No one said "Call me when you get there." No one gave me that raised eyebrow look of despair at my act of self-transportation. No One.
When I was 17 and lived in Great Barrington and worked at the pizza joint, I walked about 3/4 of a mile to and from work. Going to work was nice, coming home was terrifying. There were no street lights, the road was almost always completely deserted and there was a cemetery that I had to pass. Also, it was winter in the Berkshires, I was miserable and cold and jumpy for the entire 7 months I lived there. It was so dark. I had never known that kind of dark in a residential area in my life. Ever. I learned a lot about being aware of my surroundings there. How to judge the distance from one house to another; how to know where my feet would fall on sidewalk or street no matter how much snow, things that I'd never processed before, but had known from experience.
In Wichita in my early 20's, I walked. And again, while occasionally friends would loan me their cars, parking was a pain in the ass and I was terrible about filling the gas tank. I preferred to walk. Everywhere. And No One required me to justify it. Or make the I got home safely call. I never got the half-eyebrow.
I write a lot about walking. It is my rhythm, it is how I see the world, it is my preferred method of transportation. I dream of walking tours and vacations that are pilgrimages and Hadrian's Wall and boots and light packs and no cameras and notebooks, because that's how I love the world the best. On the ground. Between my feet and their motion, in the sounds of the street level debris and the relative non-existence of passers-by.
So, I am here now, closer to 40 than my folks want to admit. In this very small town. I got a part-time job. I walk to it. It's about 8 blocks. Not 8 Chicago blocks, mind, these are short. And EveryOne is Concerned. Ev-e-Ry-One. All Of Them. Even the People Who Raised Me.
The walk is nice and sort of surreal. I cross the town square, go to the other side of town, if you will. There are street lights every four feet and wide sidewalks with easy to see cracks and gullys for safer navigation. I can stare in the empty storefronts and add something a little bit odd, a little bit not quite right to this deeply sensible little village. The stoplights tell me when to go and when to not go. I ignore them.
It is not over-confidence, it is simply that I will not have my life circumscribed based on someone else's ideas of propriety and routine. Safety is a thing that gets in my way more than it allows me live freely. High heels do not exist in my wardrobe. I know how to carry my keys for maximum blood-letting and also, I talk to myself at moments, just to maintain distance between me and, oh, everyone else.
Being a pedestrian is no longer about just getting somewhere unnoticed. I am aware of everything that goes on around me, from insects to pennies on the ground to just how many things besides driving the person at the green light is doing. I see the town, the city, the trees, the view.
I get home safely.
As a child, I walked home from school almost every day. I know: uphill both ways in snow with no shoes and 100 pounds of books. While there was a slight rise leaving the school, I fully admit that it was downhill the whole way, I mostly forgot my books and my parents were very vigilant about my footwear. Although I was not always good about wearing long pants or tights. It was about a mile and a half, and since I walked at the pace of a stoned snail stuck in molasses, it took about an hour every day.
And No One Protested. No One. No one said "Call me when you get there." No one gave me that raised eyebrow look of despair at my act of self-transportation. No One.
When I was 17 and lived in Great Barrington and worked at the pizza joint, I walked about 3/4 of a mile to and from work. Going to work was nice, coming home was terrifying. There were no street lights, the road was almost always completely deserted and there was a cemetery that I had to pass. Also, it was winter in the Berkshires, I was miserable and cold and jumpy for the entire 7 months I lived there. It was so dark. I had never known that kind of dark in a residential area in my life. Ever. I learned a lot about being aware of my surroundings there. How to judge the distance from one house to another; how to know where my feet would fall on sidewalk or street no matter how much snow, things that I'd never processed before, but had known from experience.
In Wichita in my early 20's, I walked. And again, while occasionally friends would loan me their cars, parking was a pain in the ass and I was terrible about filling the gas tank. I preferred to walk. Everywhere. And No One required me to justify it. Or make the I got home safely call. I never got the half-eyebrow.
I write a lot about walking. It is my rhythm, it is how I see the world, it is my preferred method of transportation. I dream of walking tours and vacations that are pilgrimages and Hadrian's Wall and boots and light packs and no cameras and notebooks, because that's how I love the world the best. On the ground. Between my feet and their motion, in the sounds of the street level debris and the relative non-existence of passers-by.
So, I am here now, closer to 40 than my folks want to admit. In this very small town. I got a part-time job. I walk to it. It's about 8 blocks. Not 8 Chicago blocks, mind, these are short. And EveryOne is Concerned. Ev-e-Ry-One. All Of Them. Even the People Who Raised Me.
The walk is nice and sort of surreal. I cross the town square, go to the other side of town, if you will. There are street lights every four feet and wide sidewalks with easy to see cracks and gullys for safer navigation. I can stare in the empty storefronts and add something a little bit odd, a little bit not quite right to this deeply sensible little village. The stoplights tell me when to go and when to not go. I ignore them.
It is not over-confidence, it is simply that I will not have my life circumscribed based on someone else's ideas of propriety and routine. Safety is a thing that gets in my way more than it allows me live freely. High heels do not exist in my wardrobe. I know how to carry my keys for maximum blood-letting and also, I talk to myself at moments, just to maintain distance between me and, oh, everyone else.
Being a pedestrian is no longer about just getting somewhere unnoticed. I am aware of everything that goes on around me, from insects to pennies on the ground to just how many things besides driving the person at the green light is doing. I see the town, the city, the trees, the view.
I get home safely.
Saturday, 17 April 2010
about last night's question...
You asked me what I'm waiting for, and I said Mr. Right.
but that is a lie.
because I am not waiting and I am not looking and
I am not about stop not looking or waiting because
I'm busy.
It's just a phase, part of the choice that I made when it seemed the most obvious thing in the world to acknowledge what was in front of my face and follow it. I get growly and pull up grass and loll about at the trunk of a too young tree and then it bores me and I wander on into the future alone.
For now.
My mother says that life is what happens when you are waiting for life to happen.
I don't have that kind of time.
but that is a lie.
because I am not waiting and I am not looking and
I am not about stop not looking or waiting because
I'm busy.
It's just a phase, part of the choice that I made when it seemed the most obvious thing in the world to acknowledge what was in front of my face and follow it. I get growly and pull up grass and loll about at the trunk of a too young tree and then it bores me and I wander on into the future alone.
For now.
My mother says that life is what happens when you are waiting for life to happen.
I don't have that kind of time.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Things I might want you to know...
Today is April 13 of 2010. It is a Tuesday. The wind blows with strength and sunshine and I am sitting upstairs in my parents' home, in the office that used to be my bedroom. This is not as nostalgic as it may seem. But that is not the story for today.
I have just posted 4 other blogs. Two of them bear today's date. Two of them are dated earlier.
Lent of 2010 was an extremely change-filled time for me. It is barely over and already I understand how much more alive and involved I feel. I kept a couple of journals during that time, and enter their contents as I get the chance. I change the post options to reflect the date on which I wrote the entries, though I very deliberately did not make them public until after Easter. The tag is Lent.
I have also got myself all excited about a reading list that I started to create in December of 2008, and begin to have things to say about it and the books that I've read and other work that I find helps to construct a foundation and shape for this massive project. And you know, I knew it was huge. I knew it was, and did I realize it? Nope. As such, there are blogs about that. The tag is LRP.
I hope that as you read, you do follow links within this blog and around the internet. I have a great deal of fun linking to sites other than imdb, amazon and wiki-anything when I can, though I will when the other options are icky, slow-loading or questionable.
Constantly striving to change one's life bores me. Which means that life is in a constant state of flux and therefore I am never bored. It makes sense. In context.
I have just posted 4 other blogs. Two of them bear today's date. Two of them are dated earlier.
Lent of 2010 was an extremely change-filled time for me. It is barely over and already I understand how much more alive and involved I feel. I kept a couple of journals during that time, and enter their contents as I get the chance. I change the post options to reflect the date on which I wrote the entries, though I very deliberately did not make them public until after Easter. The tag is Lent.
I have also got myself all excited about a reading list that I started to create in December of 2008, and begin to have things to say about it and the books that I've read and other work that I find helps to construct a foundation and shape for this massive project. And you know, I knew it was huge. I knew it was, and did I realize it? Nope. As such, there are blogs about that. The tag is LRP.
I hope that as you read, you do follow links within this blog and around the internet. I have a great deal of fun linking to sites other than imdb, amazon and wiki-anything when I can, though I will when the other options are icky, slow-loading or questionable.
Constantly striving to change one's life bores me. Which means that life is in a constant state of flux and therefore I am never bored. It makes sense. In context.
Reading, 2.
How does art manifest itself in life?
How do those classes on the Humanities relate to anything lived in a life like mine: underemployed, un-ambitious, poverty level, un-consumer, un-insured, etc.
Where do those works of times past play into the world of writers of books that I can find and read, whether in my own library or the public library’s collection?
How important are they really?
And could a deliberate focus on non-fiction or a reading list comprised of an almost randomly selected group of titles be meaningful or have any connection whatsoever that would eventually lead it to be definable in some way?
*
I had and have another, much less esoteric motivation. Consistency and accomplishment have not been the defining themes of my life, though they have been the defining absences in many of my relationships (including interpersonal and scholarly). It is absolutely necessary for the success of my future self that I lose that attitude and gain something more like definition and direction. To that end, I saw this Grand Absurd Reading List as a way to delve into as many different areas of thought, time, space, geography, and style as I could without losing all potential coherence. As I write, it occurs to me that what I’ve ended up with has been a sort of Noah’s ark of cataloging. Which is a totally different story.
I’ve discovered many new ideas and ways of thinking. I’ve read books that have challenged my own self-imposed ignorance. I’ve read books that have annoyed me, and I am not done, which means that there are many more possibilities to be given life. I’ve begun to keep another list, one of movies, and another of books that I’ve read, not simply for The List.
I was keeping track of the music I listened to, and then that got to be too much, so I just keep track of it in my brain, which has a ton more room for holding onto information now that I’ve begun connecting loose bits with other loose bits and pulling ideas together, even loosely and absurdly. The patterns exist, even in books that seem totally unrelated or styles that have no rational connection whatsoever.
They are expressions of a living human, and they may just be enough.
I’ve put all of the titles that I could on my LibraryThing page.
Frida (scroll down until you see Salma Hayek) and Omkara are movies, and so excluded.
*Can you change your life without wealth, power, prestige or great beauty?
How do those classes on the Humanities relate to anything lived in a life like mine: underemployed, un-ambitious, poverty level, un-consumer, un-insured, etc.
Where do those works of times past play into the world of writers of books that I can find and read, whether in my own library or the public library’s collection?
How important are they really?
And could a deliberate focus on non-fiction or a reading list comprised of an almost randomly selected group of titles be meaningful or have any connection whatsoever that would eventually lead it to be definable in some way?
*
I had and have another, much less esoteric motivation. Consistency and accomplishment have not been the defining themes of my life, though they have been the defining absences in many of my relationships (including interpersonal and scholarly). It is absolutely necessary for the success of my future self that I lose that attitude and gain something more like definition and direction. To that end, I saw this Grand Absurd Reading List as a way to delve into as many different areas of thought, time, space, geography, and style as I could without losing all potential coherence. As I write, it occurs to me that what I’ve ended up with has been a sort of Noah’s ark of cataloging. Which is a totally different story.
I’ve discovered many new ideas and ways of thinking. I’ve read books that have challenged my own self-imposed ignorance. I’ve read books that have annoyed me, and I am not done, which means that there are many more possibilities to be given life. I’ve begun to keep another list, one of movies, and another of books that I’ve read, not simply for The List.
I was keeping track of the music I listened to, and then that got to be too much, so I just keep track of it in my brain, which has a ton more room for holding onto information now that I’ve begun connecting loose bits with other loose bits and pulling ideas together, even loosely and absurdly. The patterns exist, even in books that seem totally unrelated or styles that have no rational connection whatsoever.
They are expressions of a living human, and they may just be enough.
I’ve put all of the titles that I could on my LibraryThing page.
Frida (scroll down until you see Salma Hayek) and Omkara are movies, and so excluded.
*Can you change your life without wealth, power, prestige or great beauty?
Reading, 1.
Writing reviews for my LibraryThing account has become a new sort of exercise for me. There is this struggle between how much I read and how much of that reading turns into something else, like a new link in my knowledge or a review or renewed vigor working toward a goal. It is difficult to know how to approach the desire and ability to read too much and temper it without abandoning it entirely. To that end, I have found that some requirements help. I concoct reading lists and goals and use them to gauge what I’m doing and how much of it I’m doing and then once I’ve pondered the goal I’ve reached, I make a new one that is modified and so on. It is in that relatively constant pendulum swing of thought and planning and action and result that I begin to find that my life looks like something that is more like what I believe a well-lived life is.
It is aware, involved, compassionate, decisive, disciplined, gentle, quiet, joyful and not without absurdity. I believe that moderation is a good touchstone, even when it is for itself. I believe that the best way to learn a thing is to do it, and there is no reason that a book cannot be as instructive as any other method of learning, provided that the learner take the time to give air to the words of his or her instructor as they cannot do it for themselves from within the pages of a closed or silently chewed over text.
As I considered the words I chose for my review of Journey to Portugal by Jose Saramago, it occurred to me that more than just a desire to travel to that country myself was kindled. Saramago is so infuriatingly specific with his words, particularly his terminology and architectural awareness that it almost drove me to despair. I read the book slowly, though, over a period of time that was longer in events that chronology.
The first time I read the book, I did not finish it. This had more to do with my health at the time than anything else.
By the time I got around to reading it again, I had a road map of Portugal from the 1980’s pinned to my wall and worked very hard to trace his route. My notes from the first part of that reading are just incredible, they are lists of place names and monuments and styles of architecture. I am deeply happy with them.
The third time I picked up the book, I finished it in a profound amazement.
My sense of distance from his specificity was countered very strongly by my sense of the richness of his experience and I began to ask some questions about my own experiences in the world.
It is aware, involved, compassionate, decisive, disciplined, gentle, quiet, joyful and not without absurdity. I believe that moderation is a good touchstone, even when it is for itself. I believe that the best way to learn a thing is to do it, and there is no reason that a book cannot be as instructive as any other method of learning, provided that the learner take the time to give air to the words of his or her instructor as they cannot do it for themselves from within the pages of a closed or silently chewed over text.
As I considered the words I chose for my review of Journey to Portugal by Jose Saramago, it occurred to me that more than just a desire to travel to that country myself was kindled. Saramago is so infuriatingly specific with his words, particularly his terminology and architectural awareness that it almost drove me to despair. I read the book slowly, though, over a period of time that was longer in events that chronology.
The first time I read the book, I did not finish it. This had more to do with my health at the time than anything else.
By the time I got around to reading it again, I had a road map of Portugal from the 1980’s pinned to my wall and worked very hard to trace his route. My notes from the first part of that reading are just incredible, they are lists of place names and monuments and styles of architecture. I am deeply happy with them.
The third time I picked up the book, I finished it in a profound amazement.
My sense of distance from his specificity was countered very strongly by my sense of the richness of his experience and I began to ask some questions about my own experiences in the world.
Saturday, 10 April 2010
Bridges
Last night there was the bridge over the river into Brownville in my dream. The river was tremendous and blue and lovely. It was more peaceful than terrifying, though there was a moment, as I drove onto the bridge that I was very afraid. The fear left, as I knew it had to, in order for me to get across. There was another bridge, sometime later, and it was incredible and long and as I drove across it, it became ever more steep so that I was driving almost straight up, and for a moment I was not sure I ought to be leaning forward as I was and then I reached the top of that one safely as well.
I wrote of bridges yesterday and still have many to cross. Perhaps the imagery will stick with me for a while. Perhaps I just read Ex Machina too recently and find that I am curious, I do not know.
Very simple yoga practice last night. I warmed up my spine and then meditated for a short while. Change is an invisible event, it must be approached sideways and gently and persistently and eventually you become aware that it has happened, but it is not for a very long time that it is possible to look back and see where and how it happened. Note: I do not include traumatic change, like physical injury or illness or falling in love or becoming a parent or theatre.
Today finds me unsettled and out of peace with much. Not cranky or disheartened, just not at my best or brightest. I will drink toddy and eat soda bread and approach the day gently, ever ready for a good warm hug if I need it. I think I will stay in instead of wandering about as I’ve been doing. I’ve an appointment this evening, and then I’ll probably head back home and be warm in my own space some more.
The wind is frightful and the sun is strong. I’ve to open the windows soon for the little ones, they are in need of a good long breath of fresh strong air.
I wrote of bridges yesterday and still have many to cross. Perhaps the imagery will stick with me for a while. Perhaps I just read Ex Machina too recently and find that I am curious, I do not know.
Very simple yoga practice last night. I warmed up my spine and then meditated for a short while. Change is an invisible event, it must be approached sideways and gently and persistently and eventually you become aware that it has happened, but it is not for a very long time that it is possible to look back and see where and how it happened. Note: I do not include traumatic change, like physical injury or illness or falling in love or becoming a parent or theatre.
Today finds me unsettled and out of peace with much. Not cranky or disheartened, just not at my best or brightest. I will drink toddy and eat soda bread and approach the day gently, ever ready for a good warm hug if I need it. I think I will stay in instead of wandering about as I’ve been doing. I’ve an appointment this evening, and then I’ll probably head back home and be warm in my own space some more.
The wind is frightful and the sun is strong. I’ve to open the windows soon for the little ones, they are in need of a good long breath of fresh strong air.
Friday, 9 April 2010
Day for Writing, Writing Day
Today is Writing Day. If I do the math I think I’ve got about 13 pages to write of script in order to catch up to where I’m supposed to be in order to avoid writing 83 pages in 2 days or so and still make it to the end of Script Frenzy with success.
I began a new yoga practice last night and I’m kind of excited about it, really. The work is essentially the same, but the movements make a certain degree more sense to me and feel gentler and more demanding. I do not see difficulty with this combination, as there is less strain put on my lower back in ways that cause it to hurt, but my leg muscles were shaking well before the end of practice. Shaking. It was a surprise. The focus required is not without difficulty and that seems right. The book belongs to the library and so will have to return to it, and I am hoping to gain enough knowledge and experience with the practice to be able to construct my own book of practices and to be able to remember what I’m doing when I do it. It is somewhat like knitting in the sense that the instructions are not going to make sense until you do them, whether you do them correctly or not – with exercise it is more important to move very slowly as mistakes are not generally as positive when it comes to manipulating your body as playing with yarn.
I do not remember dreams from last night. Boris woke me up at 4. He does this now. I am not entirely certain how to approach it. Do I scold him? (more) or do I appreciate that he’s my alarm clock and get up and begin my day? I’m beginning to suspect that the latter option is the one that will yield the more interesting results, especially as I already know what happens when I get tetchy with him and it is not really good. I find that I am more easily irritated lately, and while it will pass, there is still the question of how to control it and not to respond quite so strongly to events which would do better with a calm voice and love. There’s a practice for that. Woot.
Yesterday I listened to lectures on Anglo-Saxon history, specifically as a discussion of the fullness of the world of the Anglo-Saxons from the 500’s thru the 1000’s, so that’s 6th to 11th centuries. The lecturer is tremendous and emotionally involved and informed and willing to share and that is so much the reason that I enjoy these lectures – I do not have to compete with apathy in order to learn. It is such a barrier to engagement. The repetition of names like the Venerable Bede and Gregory the Great and Alfred the Great and the Cotton manuscripts – it is good to hear them again and again. It is good to learn of times and places in ways that add detail and more foundation to my understanding – (in the urban landscape of my thinking self, there are neighborhoods and bookstores and coffee shops and museums, but no libraries because it is the nature of my thinking self to be a library, willing to share and happy to organize and ready to throw a curse on anyone who mars or steals from the collection) there is no appropriate image that I know of (based on my own ignorance, not on its actual unavailability) to describe the dimensional world that holds detail and color and smell and someday will hold touch and taste as well, that moves through time in a way that is not linear and is not even specific to one person, but follows itself with ideas and words and spices and patterns of movements.
This small life that I am allowed to live is rich in heartbeats and creations and difficulties and community. Continued learning and passion for one subject after another brings it more and more life and responsibility.
Non-violence is a thing with which I struggle of late. To be perfectly honest (aside: how much do I love that a synonym for ‘honest’ is ‘frank’ like the firenj Crusaders who gave their nickname to the French), I have struggled with it for many years. It is very easy to see that violence destroys and begets itself and does not ever do anything but these things. It is not easy at all to behave non-violently. Even my language and jokes tend to be violent, emotionally, pridefully and physically at times. It is part of who I’ve become and that’s something that is more than a little bit challenging to overcome. Particularly as I have the desire, based on purely practical considerations, to learn all manner of self-defense as I will travel and I will live by myself and I’ve no need to ever again have to heal from not simply the act of violence but the horrible culpability that lingers believing that there must have been something that I could have done. There is no amount of gentleness too great in the approach to someone thus wounded.
And this concerns me, and very likely will concern me for the rest of my life. There are changes that I can make to my speaking and attitudes, and there are shifts in observation and in approaches to difficulties and challenges and obstacles and also demanding felines. He is curled up on the bed, watching me through sleepy eyes. His sister is in a window sill, watching the world with the sun on her fur, and now it is time for me to write about dreams and barbeques and other fragile thresholds of interaction…
I began a new yoga practice last night and I’m kind of excited about it, really. The work is essentially the same, but the movements make a certain degree more sense to me and feel gentler and more demanding. I do not see difficulty with this combination, as there is less strain put on my lower back in ways that cause it to hurt, but my leg muscles were shaking well before the end of practice. Shaking. It was a surprise. The focus required is not without difficulty and that seems right. The book belongs to the library and so will have to return to it, and I am hoping to gain enough knowledge and experience with the practice to be able to construct my own book of practices and to be able to remember what I’m doing when I do it. It is somewhat like knitting in the sense that the instructions are not going to make sense until you do them, whether you do them correctly or not – with exercise it is more important to move very slowly as mistakes are not generally as positive when it comes to manipulating your body as playing with yarn.
I do not remember dreams from last night. Boris woke me up at 4. He does this now. I am not entirely certain how to approach it. Do I scold him? (more) or do I appreciate that he’s my alarm clock and get up and begin my day? I’m beginning to suspect that the latter option is the one that will yield the more interesting results, especially as I already know what happens when I get tetchy with him and it is not really good. I find that I am more easily irritated lately, and while it will pass, there is still the question of how to control it and not to respond quite so strongly to events which would do better with a calm voice and love. There’s a practice for that. Woot.
Yesterday I listened to lectures on Anglo-Saxon history, specifically as a discussion of the fullness of the world of the Anglo-Saxons from the 500’s thru the 1000’s, so that’s 6th to 11th centuries. The lecturer is tremendous and emotionally involved and informed and willing to share and that is so much the reason that I enjoy these lectures – I do not have to compete with apathy in order to learn. It is such a barrier to engagement. The repetition of names like the Venerable Bede and Gregory the Great and Alfred the Great and the Cotton manuscripts – it is good to hear them again and again. It is good to learn of times and places in ways that add detail and more foundation to my understanding – (in the urban landscape of my thinking self, there are neighborhoods and bookstores and coffee shops and museums, but no libraries because it is the nature of my thinking self to be a library, willing to share and happy to organize and ready to throw a curse on anyone who mars or steals from the collection) there is no appropriate image that I know of (based on my own ignorance, not on its actual unavailability) to describe the dimensional world that holds detail and color and smell and someday will hold touch and taste as well, that moves through time in a way that is not linear and is not even specific to one person, but follows itself with ideas and words and spices and patterns of movements.
This small life that I am allowed to live is rich in heartbeats and creations and difficulties and community. Continued learning and passion for one subject after another brings it more and more life and responsibility.
Non-violence is a thing with which I struggle of late. To be perfectly honest (aside: how much do I love that a synonym for ‘honest’ is ‘frank’ like the firenj Crusaders who gave their nickname to the French), I have struggled with it for many years. It is very easy to see that violence destroys and begets itself and does not ever do anything but these things. It is not easy at all to behave non-violently. Even my language and jokes tend to be violent, emotionally, pridefully and physically at times. It is part of who I’ve become and that’s something that is more than a little bit challenging to overcome. Particularly as I have the desire, based on purely practical considerations, to learn all manner of self-defense as I will travel and I will live by myself and I’ve no need to ever again have to heal from not simply the act of violence but the horrible culpability that lingers believing that there must have been something that I could have done. There is no amount of gentleness too great in the approach to someone thus wounded.
And this concerns me, and very likely will concern me for the rest of my life. There are changes that I can make to my speaking and attitudes, and there are shifts in observation and in approaches to difficulties and challenges and obstacles and also demanding felines. He is curled up on the bed, watching me through sleepy eyes. His sister is in a window sill, watching the world with the sun on her fur, and now it is time for me to write about dreams and barbeques and other fragile thresholds of interaction…
Thursday, 8 April 2010
On the outside
The day is brilliant and clear and I carry with me many books filled with information and advice and science and poetry and it is good.
The difficulty with unemployment (for now the only one) is mostly one of filling up my time in meaningful and positive ways. I am very focused on that combination of requirements of late. Not sure where they came from, but they are specific and I approve. I've accomplished nearly all of my goals for the day. There is one more bit of financial responsibility that I need to commit and then I will go and find another book and head home in the sunshine and happy to the land of face-buried felines and a new yoga routine. It is unnerving to think of starting new moves and different breathing and I think I'll do just fine.
I have not practiced for two days. It is not okay.
I remember only bits from one dream of last night and it was jarring. There were threads. Actual threads, one white, one orange (saffron?). I woke and struggled with something that has become a non-entity of late: despair. It is hardly unnatural or never to be expected, especially as so much changes between last week and the middle of August, and next fall and spring and the August that follows and every semester again and there really is no end to the movements of living. My heart has been very still of late, settling down past floodwater lines that I've never noticed before and telling me stories that have never had a voice. So to experience the fringes of pointless sadness was something not to be ignored, though also not to be embraced.
In my half-sleep the notion that this life is no longer on a conveyor belt, that the path it follows is walked and strolled and jogged and still and not inevitable or doomed, found words and they pleased me. I am not all for ego-strong free will, and I am not not not about to give it up to predestination. Life happens. And we/I decide what to do about it. It's very much a balance, a conversation, where pride and bravado and violence can seem to have more strength than sweetness and silence and the gentleness of a held hand.
In my vain attempts to prevent noticing the 'waiting' I have lectures to hear, books to read and projects to finish or start knitting and beading and crocheting and gluing and cleaning. I have about a week before anything exciting really happens again.
It is good to find my way here.
The difficulty with unemployment (for now the only one) is mostly one of filling up my time in meaningful and positive ways. I am very focused on that combination of requirements of late. Not sure where they came from, but they are specific and I approve. I've accomplished nearly all of my goals for the day. There is one more bit of financial responsibility that I need to commit and then I will go and find another book and head home in the sunshine and happy to the land of face-buried felines and a new yoga routine. It is unnerving to think of starting new moves and different breathing and I think I'll do just fine.
I have not practiced for two days. It is not okay.
I remember only bits from one dream of last night and it was jarring. There were threads. Actual threads, one white, one orange (saffron?). I woke and struggled with something that has become a non-entity of late: despair. It is hardly unnatural or never to be expected, especially as so much changes between last week and the middle of August, and next fall and spring and the August that follows and every semester again and there really is no end to the movements of living. My heart has been very still of late, settling down past floodwater lines that I've never noticed before and telling me stories that have never had a voice. So to experience the fringes of pointless sadness was something not to be ignored, though also not to be embraced.
In my half-sleep the notion that this life is no longer on a conveyor belt, that the path it follows is walked and strolled and jogged and still and not inevitable or doomed, found words and they pleased me. I am not all for ego-strong free will, and I am not not not about to give it up to predestination. Life happens. And we/I decide what to do about it. It's very much a balance, a conversation, where pride and bravado and violence can seem to have more strength than sweetness and silence and the gentleness of a held hand.
In my vain attempts to prevent noticing the 'waiting' I have lectures to hear, books to read and projects to finish or start knitting and beading and crocheting and gluing and cleaning. I have about a week before anything exciting really happens again.
It is good to find my way here.
Friday, 2 April 2010
Quarter year & Lenten check-in
Today is April 2, 2010. The year is one quarter gone, and I’ve decided that it’s time to check in and see how things are. It seems a bit unnecessary, but at the same time, it is a year of many changes and I’d like to stop for a moment and consider.
Lent is over in two days. I’ve kept most of my Lenten fasts very well. Very well indeed. It is not pride that inspires this statement, rather a general belief that it was good timing for my life to change all of the things that have been changed in the last 45 days.
The closer I get to Easter, the less inclined I am to believe that a completely ascetic life is a good idea for me. Balance is a much stranger beast in this modern life, and it is right that it should share this path.
I have not read a book for 5 days. It is terrible. This is the worst part of this experience; easily the most difficult and the most isolating.
This separation from books is like being away from my own heartbeat. Admittedly, there are also other reasons for this besides the creativity trigger, which would be enough in and of itself, as I am in the position of having to fill many hours of my day without the outlet and ease of picking up a book on some subject or another.
It is difficult for me to balance the desire to read with the overflow of information and potential for knowledge that is sparked. I do not write papers or reviews as I think would be sensible for the amount of reading that I do. There is a disconnect between what I keep in my brain and what I share of it.
Now that I’ve complained about the reading briefly, let's look at the rest:
1} Lenten fast on drinking. It was a very good decision on my part to quit doing this at home, especially as it was taking up a great deal of time and money and I did not feel very good in the mornings. I have drunk on days not Thursday, though I’ve not had more than one beer on those occasions. I have gotten good and tipsy with the girls on a Thursday evening, and it’s been good fun. Probably because there was food involved and good company and the evenings ended relatively early, and I took advantage of the fact to drink water on my return home and sleep well. I look forward to continuing this habit, to be honest. I enjoy a drink or two, and it will be nice to able to actually enjoy them rather than just drink.
2} Lenten fast on smoking. Also a good decision and one that’s been relatively easy so far. As I come closer to Easter and the weather improves, it gets more and more difficult to not want a cigarette, though the financial benefits from not smoking far outweigh the desire to sit outside on the porch and just smoke my way through the day. I expect that it is a habit I will not pick up again in earnest at least until I begin graduate school. I do not know which of the decisions I’ve made has had any impact on my health specifically, though I’m sure that they have all helped at least a little bit. I certainly feel better. And I’ve gotten through the part where I feel cranky about it.
3} The DVD and the TV and the VCR are in the closet. I miss them. I’ve listened to lectures, so do not feel the absence as acutely as if I had also quit reading for Lent (can you imagine the stress and strain? Don’t even try. It would have been terrible.). I do miss the stories and the commentaries and all that, but there is also something nice about not having the screen anywhere visible.
4} I gave up not doing Yoga every day. And I’ve kept to that very well. I’ve entirely skipped 4 days, I think. There have been days recently that I’ve practiced yoga, just not the routine for that day specifically. Yesterday I practiced yoga twice and harbor desires of developing a morning routine geared toward the stretching of my legs and loosening of my hips and shoulders.
5} No meat but for Thursdays. I love this. I love it so much. I’ve got meat in the freezer and will add more to it today after I go shopping for the chicken for my Easter feast, which is a necessary part of the ritual, I now understand, but I’ve no real craving for it. I prefer rice and eggs and something with beans in it for dinner. It sits easily in my gut, I feel good and the leftovers are so nice. I feel like a weekly sort of treat is not a bad thing, nor is it bad to eat meat out at restaurants, but there is so much more in the world and this prohibition did exactly what I wanted it to do (and perhaps more): it convinced me to look around for different options and to consider different spices and ways of approaching my food habits. I truly do feel better. It is noticeable.
6} Work every scheduled shift. Yes. That worked. It worked really crazy well. I am thinking of ways to get myself to hold to that for the rest of my life. There were days that were difficult to get up and go, and it didn’t matter. I did it and I’m glad that I did. Now, I also quit my job when it became clear to me that it was going nowhere and was going to become unmanageable and there was no protection or respect available from the management. I have been unemployed for almost two days and I’m almost stir crazy for lack of work to do outside of the house. I’ve gone walking around town and around my parents’ house.
7} Coffee and chocolate are totally allowed. All blessings to the coffee bean pickers and the cacao bean pickers. All blessings to the people who process them and package them and get them here. All blessings to the people who introduced these amazing and wonderful beans to the world outside of their own purview. They are beautiful things and ought to be held in high esteem and respected more than they are in the world. I do not believe in being lazy about my coffee or my chocolate any more. Never again will I take it for granted. Never pretend that it doesn’t matter how good or how well made. Without these to bring me pleasure, I might well have forgotten about those senses entirely and without the ability to be pleased, I cannot see how joy has any meaning whatsoever.
8} Script Frenzy. I wrote 5 pages on my first day. I will write more today. I have until April 30 to write all 100 pages. I have no illusions about the mixed media nature of these script pages. It is deliberate and I rejoice in the collage.
Other observations and Behavioral changes: I have begun to pray. I have begun to meditate. Yoga practice is a time of day for focus and concentration and it is more and more challenging and encompassing. I do not begin to pretend that I have any idea ‘how’ to pray or ‘how’ to meditate. They are actions that I begin to take. I work to practice them with the same level of focus as I use for yoga, and I work to increase that level daily, in my everyday actions and responses and behaviors. I have begun to find myself experiencing levels of joy that are mystical to me as yet. I walk down a known street in this known city and the sounds are the sounds of prayer and life and there is nothing that is not beautiful in it. I am everywhere and anywhere and all of it rejoices.
I begin, slowly, very gently, to push my feelings to the surface, to share them with the people that I love. It is new to me and I find that I am nervous about it. Physical intimacy is much easier than emotional intimacy. But I do not have that option. And it is good that I do not, for these are relationships that are defined very specifically and they do not involve physical intimacy. I cry very easily and wonder at it, but have decided that it is not time to address the issue as yet.
I have kept two journals through this Lenten season. I am curious to read what they say starting Monday. I have begun to consider the definition of what is ‘real’ and how I interact with my dreaming life.
My contemplations on the nature of emotions in my life have not yet found words, though they are ever present in my days. They are positive and productive and I am pleased to continue them. I feel that I will start to see their results in my writing soon enough.
I have begun to save money and see that it is good and I am pleased with the results and would very much like to persist in this. Life is full and rich right now, and that is without great expense although it is by no means at the expense of good food or friendship or entertainment or society. I am pleased and gratified and feel that there are many things to say on the subject, especially as there are so many people who would love to change their lives and only see examples in people who have a lot of money, because they see that only money solves everything.
Lent is over in two days. I’ve kept most of my Lenten fasts very well. Very well indeed. It is not pride that inspires this statement, rather a general belief that it was good timing for my life to change all of the things that have been changed in the last 45 days.
The closer I get to Easter, the less inclined I am to believe that a completely ascetic life is a good idea for me. Balance is a much stranger beast in this modern life, and it is right that it should share this path.
I have not read a book for 5 days. It is terrible. This is the worst part of this experience; easily the most difficult and the most isolating.
This separation from books is like being away from my own heartbeat. Admittedly, there are also other reasons for this besides the creativity trigger, which would be enough in and of itself, as I am in the position of having to fill many hours of my day without the outlet and ease of picking up a book on some subject or another.
It is difficult for me to balance the desire to read with the overflow of information and potential for knowledge that is sparked. I do not write papers or reviews as I think would be sensible for the amount of reading that I do. There is a disconnect between what I keep in my brain and what I share of it.
Now that I’ve complained about the reading briefly, let's look at the rest:
1} Lenten fast on drinking. It was a very good decision on my part to quit doing this at home, especially as it was taking up a great deal of time and money and I did not feel very good in the mornings. I have drunk on days not Thursday, though I’ve not had more than one beer on those occasions. I have gotten good and tipsy with the girls on a Thursday evening, and it’s been good fun. Probably because there was food involved and good company and the evenings ended relatively early, and I took advantage of the fact to drink water on my return home and sleep well. I look forward to continuing this habit, to be honest. I enjoy a drink or two, and it will be nice to able to actually enjoy them rather than just drink.
2} Lenten fast on smoking. Also a good decision and one that’s been relatively easy so far. As I come closer to Easter and the weather improves, it gets more and more difficult to not want a cigarette, though the financial benefits from not smoking far outweigh the desire to sit outside on the porch and just smoke my way through the day. I expect that it is a habit I will not pick up again in earnest at least until I begin graduate school. I do not know which of the decisions I’ve made has had any impact on my health specifically, though I’m sure that they have all helped at least a little bit. I certainly feel better. And I’ve gotten through the part where I feel cranky about it.
3} The DVD and the TV and the VCR are in the closet. I miss them. I’ve listened to lectures, so do not feel the absence as acutely as if I had also quit reading for Lent (can you imagine the stress and strain? Don’t even try. It would have been terrible.). I do miss the stories and the commentaries and all that, but there is also something nice about not having the screen anywhere visible.
4} I gave up not doing Yoga every day. And I’ve kept to that very well. I’ve entirely skipped 4 days, I think. There have been days recently that I’ve practiced yoga, just not the routine for that day specifically. Yesterday I practiced yoga twice and harbor desires of developing a morning routine geared toward the stretching of my legs and loosening of my hips and shoulders.
5} No meat but for Thursdays. I love this. I love it so much. I’ve got meat in the freezer and will add more to it today after I go shopping for the chicken for my Easter feast, which is a necessary part of the ritual, I now understand, but I’ve no real craving for it. I prefer rice and eggs and something with beans in it for dinner. It sits easily in my gut, I feel good and the leftovers are so nice. I feel like a weekly sort of treat is not a bad thing, nor is it bad to eat meat out at restaurants, but there is so much more in the world and this prohibition did exactly what I wanted it to do (and perhaps more): it convinced me to look around for different options and to consider different spices and ways of approaching my food habits. I truly do feel better. It is noticeable.
6} Work every scheduled shift. Yes. That worked. It worked really crazy well. I am thinking of ways to get myself to hold to that for the rest of my life. There were days that were difficult to get up and go, and it didn’t matter. I did it and I’m glad that I did. Now, I also quit my job when it became clear to me that it was going nowhere and was going to become unmanageable and there was no protection or respect available from the management. I have been unemployed for almost two days and I’m almost stir crazy for lack of work to do outside of the house. I’ve gone walking around town and around my parents’ house.
7} Coffee and chocolate are totally allowed. All blessings to the coffee bean pickers and the cacao bean pickers. All blessings to the people who process them and package them and get them here. All blessings to the people who introduced these amazing and wonderful beans to the world outside of their own purview. They are beautiful things and ought to be held in high esteem and respected more than they are in the world. I do not believe in being lazy about my coffee or my chocolate any more. Never again will I take it for granted. Never pretend that it doesn’t matter how good or how well made. Without these to bring me pleasure, I might well have forgotten about those senses entirely and without the ability to be pleased, I cannot see how joy has any meaning whatsoever.
8} Script Frenzy. I wrote 5 pages on my first day. I will write more today. I have until April 30 to write all 100 pages. I have no illusions about the mixed media nature of these script pages. It is deliberate and I rejoice in the collage.
Other observations and Behavioral changes: I have begun to pray. I have begun to meditate. Yoga practice is a time of day for focus and concentration and it is more and more challenging and encompassing. I do not begin to pretend that I have any idea ‘how’ to pray or ‘how’ to meditate. They are actions that I begin to take. I work to practice them with the same level of focus as I use for yoga, and I work to increase that level daily, in my everyday actions and responses and behaviors. I have begun to find myself experiencing levels of joy that are mystical to me as yet. I walk down a known street in this known city and the sounds are the sounds of prayer and life and there is nothing that is not beautiful in it. I am everywhere and anywhere and all of it rejoices.
I begin, slowly, very gently, to push my feelings to the surface, to share them with the people that I love. It is new to me and I find that I am nervous about it. Physical intimacy is much easier than emotional intimacy. But I do not have that option. And it is good that I do not, for these are relationships that are defined very specifically and they do not involve physical intimacy. I cry very easily and wonder at it, but have decided that it is not time to address the issue as yet.
I have kept two journals through this Lenten season. I am curious to read what they say starting Monday. I have begun to consider the definition of what is ‘real’ and how I interact with my dreaming life.
My contemplations on the nature of emotions in my life have not yet found words, though they are ever present in my days. They are positive and productive and I am pleased to continue them. I feel that I will start to see their results in my writing soon enough.
I have begun to save money and see that it is good and I am pleased with the results and would very much like to persist in this. Life is full and rich right now, and that is without great expense although it is by no means at the expense of good food or friendship or entertainment or society. I am pleased and gratified and feel that there are many things to say on the subject, especially as there are so many people who would love to change their lives and only see examples in people who have a lot of money, because they see that only money solves everything.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Lent sort-of halfway point
It is long since I sat down with a keyboard under my fingers and typed to write this way. I spent much time with the manual typewriter November, but had no laptop, no personal computer and so could not have this moment. I am uncertain about it, to be perfectly honest with you.
It is more quick than I would like, but that probably reflects more on the amount of time I would like to take on my writing than it does on the technology itself. Self-control is what is required.
I began Lent with some aim of exercising self-control for 40 days. I do not know how well I succeed thus far. It is halfway gone once tonight is done. I do not know that the next 20 days will be any easier than the preceding, though I’ve been so jazzed about the cooking and the reading and the time that I’ve spent in my home doing more than staring at walls, and getting something like healthy (although that was never really the goal), and I’ve had more focus. Focus is the constant struggle. I would rather look at life as something less confrontational than ‘struggle’ and generally I do, I would not mislead myself simply because the words flow more easily from fingertips on a keyboard than they do from a pen onto paper.
Left-handed writing has become less difficult since I began doing it every day, but it is still not as polished as my right hand. I have thought of many things in conjunction with the books I read and lectures I hear. I think of knights and valor and honor and the feudal system and how entrenched behaviors can really be. We do not even question them or seek to change them, it is not the nature of humans to notice that they can adapt to their own notions of life. We spend much energy in our lives, especially now that many of us have figured out the self-control of living, teaching and telling and showing and generally doing just that: adapting to our lives as we would have them and then living the life as it has molded itself around our living. Self-actualization was not the call word of the Crusades.
There are practical decisions that must be made. They are about learning languages: Hindi, Latin, Arabic, French, Spanish, Italian, Ancient Greek, Old Norse, Old English, Middle English, Icelandic, Norman French, etc.
There are also practical decisions about money spending to be made: as in, the date is sent for wedding in Calcutta (not mine): December 21st, 2010. And I have no idea how much money I will need or how I will make or save that money. It is heartbreaking to me that I may not be able to go. I will live through the heartbreak, but that doesn’t change its reality in the least. I was hoping to get a chance to be hired as an LAII at the library. Six months of employment would be enough to allow me to save a good amount of money and spend some time wandering about the world before going to graduate school. Of course, that depends on getting into graduate school.
A thing which I’ve begun working on: I’ve finished the first draft of my Statement of Purpose. It is not bad, and I think that there are some good sentences worth keeping and perhaps expanding into something else, but it needs to be focused and determined and stellar – I will not send in a an application that does not rise to my highest standards. I have a lot of explaining to do, and I intend to do it and give myself the best possible chance to learn more of my trade. I am thinking that it will make sense to get more than one degree, so that I can do interpretive work as well as physical work. That is a bit idealistic, but it is a notion that finds much favor with me.
The last several days have been so full of moments of déjà vu that I hardly know when I am awake or asleep. My dreams flee from my in the morning, giggling as nymphs at the tidbits they have left me, tidbits which I find it more and more difficult to remember to pick up. I do remember that last night I dreamt of meeting Danielle in France, at an intensive language course/school. The scene was so real to me that I began to question my waking history and wonder if I really had experienced such a school and if our personal history was really that connected and perhaps we’d just forgotten and needed the dream to remember it. There was another dream that left me with much the same story not too long ago. Questions that it raised stayed with me for some time. I enjoyed them: were the girls dreaming their future as friends? If so, how did the phone numbers that they all remembered still work?
It is more quick than I would like, but that probably reflects more on the amount of time I would like to take on my writing than it does on the technology itself. Self-control is what is required.
I began Lent with some aim of exercising self-control for 40 days. I do not know how well I succeed thus far. It is halfway gone once tonight is done. I do not know that the next 20 days will be any easier than the preceding, though I’ve been so jazzed about the cooking and the reading and the time that I’ve spent in my home doing more than staring at walls, and getting something like healthy (although that was never really the goal), and I’ve had more focus. Focus is the constant struggle. I would rather look at life as something less confrontational than ‘struggle’ and generally I do, I would not mislead myself simply because the words flow more easily from fingertips on a keyboard than they do from a pen onto paper.
Left-handed writing has become less difficult since I began doing it every day, but it is still not as polished as my right hand. I have thought of many things in conjunction with the books I read and lectures I hear. I think of knights and valor and honor and the feudal system and how entrenched behaviors can really be. We do not even question them or seek to change them, it is not the nature of humans to notice that they can adapt to their own notions of life. We spend much energy in our lives, especially now that many of us have figured out the self-control of living, teaching and telling and showing and generally doing just that: adapting to our lives as we would have them and then living the life as it has molded itself around our living. Self-actualization was not the call word of the Crusades.
There are practical decisions that must be made. They are about learning languages: Hindi, Latin, Arabic, French, Spanish, Italian, Ancient Greek, Old Norse, Old English, Middle English, Icelandic, Norman French, etc.
There are also practical decisions about money spending to be made: as in, the date is sent for wedding in Calcutta (not mine): December 21st, 2010. And I have no idea how much money I will need or how I will make or save that money. It is heartbreaking to me that I may not be able to go. I will live through the heartbreak, but that doesn’t change its reality in the least. I was hoping to get a chance to be hired as an LAII at the library. Six months of employment would be enough to allow me to save a good amount of money and spend some time wandering about the world before going to graduate school. Of course, that depends on getting into graduate school.
A thing which I’ve begun working on: I’ve finished the first draft of my Statement of Purpose. It is not bad, and I think that there are some good sentences worth keeping and perhaps expanding into something else, but it needs to be focused and determined and stellar – I will not send in a an application that does not rise to my highest standards. I have a lot of explaining to do, and I intend to do it and give myself the best possible chance to learn more of my trade. I am thinking that it will make sense to get more than one degree, so that I can do interpretive work as well as physical work. That is a bit idealistic, but it is a notion that finds much favor with me.
The last several days have been so full of moments of déjà vu that I hardly know when I am awake or asleep. My dreams flee from my in the morning, giggling as nymphs at the tidbits they have left me, tidbits which I find it more and more difficult to remember to pick up. I do remember that last night I dreamt of meeting Danielle in France, at an intensive language course/school. The scene was so real to me that I began to question my waking history and wonder if I really had experienced such a school and if our personal history was really that connected and perhaps we’d just forgotten and needed the dream to remember it. There was another dream that left me with much the same story not too long ago. Questions that it raised stayed with me for some time. I enjoyed them: were the girls dreaming their future as friends? If so, how did the phone numbers that they all remembered still work?
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Lent Day 5
Careful and deliberate breathing.
It feels almost unjust to record these days and responses, however it is not, and keeps me writing, which is also part of the bigger goal: the specifically defined life. I have not taken time for such quiet and focused contemplation in too long to think about.
I have read today of the Sybils and of Hypatia. I have considered cataloging and the ordering of the mind in its cycles and distractions. I have wondered of the wisdom of recipe-less cauliflower and cheese soup. That may have to wait. I am not so certain of cooking yet and still must wash many dishes.
I found myself staring at the radiator in the kitchen, sparking with the possibilities of its inner life.
The bathroom floor & the sink are cleaned as are the desk and one of the bookshelves. I feel a bit like the kid in the picture book I had as a child who only washed one part of himself a day and at the end of the week was still half dirty!
It is not entirely surprising that I've begun to sweep more now that I spend much more time than before in close contact with the floor. I see the crud and smell the air. it is a completely different perspective.
Four of the clutter-keepers I made have been emptied. One of them is on the ironing pad - pinned (bottom & lid) to finally take some kind of shape that is well-defined. I had fun making those bowls.
It is noted that there are still many sore spots in the re-establishing of certain habits. I am uncertain what to call my responses to them. I am not apathetic, nor am I inclined to anger or re-created hurt (that is to say: there is old hurt & the recognition of its source, but without addition) from whining or a sense of unfairness. There is some lingering dismissiveness (as, for example, my predilection for some kind of ceremony of tea) which I feel is as harmful as any other lingering resentment. It is acknowledged and I cannot be honest and say that any more is required. The soreness will pass away, as the soreness of muscles kept working toward the goal of greater strength and flexibility. The pain exists. It is no meaningful distraction. It is more than I thought it was, which makes sense: if I did not know how tense and inflexible my body had become, how could I guess at the same stagnation in my ego and my heart.
I stretch my reason and my emotions must needs reach out. It is good to be gentle. It is good to clean one floor and let the rest be there on a different day.
It feels almost unjust to record these days and responses, however it is not, and keeps me writing, which is also part of the bigger goal: the specifically defined life. I have not taken time for such quiet and focused contemplation in too long to think about.
I have read today of the Sybils and of Hypatia. I have considered cataloging and the ordering of the mind in its cycles and distractions. I have wondered of the wisdom of recipe-less cauliflower and cheese soup. That may have to wait. I am not so certain of cooking yet and still must wash many dishes.
I found myself staring at the radiator in the kitchen, sparking with the possibilities of its inner life.
The bathroom floor & the sink are cleaned as are the desk and one of the bookshelves. I feel a bit like the kid in the picture book I had as a child who only washed one part of himself a day and at the end of the week was still half dirty!
It is not entirely surprising that I've begun to sweep more now that I spend much more time than before in close contact with the floor. I see the crud and smell the air. it is a completely different perspective.
Four of the clutter-keepers I made have been emptied. One of them is on the ironing pad - pinned (bottom & lid) to finally take some kind of shape that is well-defined. I had fun making those bowls.
It is noted that there are still many sore spots in the re-establishing of certain habits. I am uncertain what to call my responses to them. I am not apathetic, nor am I inclined to anger or re-created hurt (that is to say: there is old hurt & the recognition of its source, but without addition) from whining or a sense of unfairness. There is some lingering dismissiveness (as, for example, my predilection for some kind of ceremony of tea) which I feel is as harmful as any other lingering resentment. It is acknowledged and I cannot be honest and say that any more is required. The soreness will pass away, as the soreness of muscles kept working toward the goal of greater strength and flexibility. The pain exists. It is no meaningful distraction. It is more than I thought it was, which makes sense: if I did not know how tense and inflexible my body had become, how could I guess at the same stagnation in my ego and my heart.
I stretch my reason and my emotions must needs reach out. It is good to be gentle. It is good to clean one floor and let the rest be there on a different day.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Lent Day 4, later
I've found a way to make some kind of peace with Circular Motion. It seems best. Noticed that while my back is very tender right now (that I've sat funny) I did not feel the same level of tension today or tonight. It was neither as strong nor long-lasting.
It is late and I am uncertain about my next activity. I believe that I will take out my contacts and go to bed with vitamins, water and Dr. Nussbaum. It seems balanced that long work days will be short reading days. Also, there has been much sleeping, and that strikes me as correct. I wonder when my dream life will leave more remnants in my waking life than it already does? I know that I dream. That is enough. It is likely that it will always be enough.
It is late and I am uncertain about my next activity. I believe that I will take out my contacts and go to bed with vitamins, water and Dr. Nussbaum. It seems balanced that long work days will be short reading days. Also, there has been much sleeping, and that strikes me as correct. I wonder when my dream life will leave more remnants in my waking life than it already does? I know that I dream. That is enough. It is likely that it will always be enough.
Lent Day 4
Fourth day of yoga will be practice late today, as I've not eaten for several hours and had quite a long walk home from work. Rice reheated with ghee and a side of cottage cheese. After yoga, I may have a bowl of soup. Such good soup.
Much as been on my mind today. Dreams crowded and alive and more unremembered than usual. Places in the day where instead of doing one thing, I do another - interesting how right now the temptation is not so strong, as I just have rules and am to follow them. Confidence in full acknowledgment of fragility and human weakness. No room for arrogance.
Nor any room for apathy, neither. As I discovered in terse conversation with a sort-of colleague today. "Except that I love what I do, so it's not like any other job."
My now assuaged hunger in conjunction with teh delay in yoga practice brings the memories of my first husband even closer. That terrible night when he left. For six hours he was gone and I could have left him then. I could have been home with my mother and on my way wherever and I stayed. And the hurts layered. And he read my journal. And I stopped registering the pain. I know that I must have lashed out in anger and hurt, though I've no idea at whom. Or for how long. We were a couple of people made of reactions to each other.
It has never been comfortable for me to feel that he was fully aware of himself, that he was completely reasonable; and yet I do pin responsibility on him for his actions. My own lack of awareness does not remove culpability. All it does, and this is not small, is serve to remind me that I have the right (and responsibility) to make better choices now that I am aware. It is time to change when the time happens. I believe that I have a certain degree of input there, but I do not have the ability to understand a thing, I will have to gain that understanding before learning can be said to have happened.
Gentleness and patience are not at odds with persistence and honesty. And there is already such joy in life and in living. To be able to fully involve myself, that may be additionally joyful.
It is not necessarily possible, I believe, to exert complete control over thoughts and attention. it is not impossible to be present and engaged most of the time: even in the even that 'present' is somewhere .... else.
Much as been on my mind today. Dreams crowded and alive and more unremembered than usual. Places in the day where instead of doing one thing, I do another - interesting how right now the temptation is not so strong, as I just have rules and am to follow them. Confidence in full acknowledgment of fragility and human weakness. No room for arrogance.
Nor any room for apathy, neither. As I discovered in terse conversation with a sort-of colleague today. "Except that I love what I do, so it's not like any other job."
My now assuaged hunger in conjunction with teh delay in yoga practice brings the memories of my first husband even closer. That terrible night when he left. For six hours he was gone and I could have left him then. I could have been home with my mother and on my way wherever and I stayed. And the hurts layered. And he read my journal. And I stopped registering the pain. I know that I must have lashed out in anger and hurt, though I've no idea at whom. Or for how long. We were a couple of people made of reactions to each other.
It has never been comfortable for me to feel that he was fully aware of himself, that he was completely reasonable; and yet I do pin responsibility on him for his actions. My own lack of awareness does not remove culpability. All it does, and this is not small, is serve to remind me that I have the right (and responsibility) to make better choices now that I am aware. It is time to change when the time happens. I believe that I have a certain degree of input there, but I do not have the ability to understand a thing, I will have to gain that understanding before learning can be said to have happened.
Gentleness and patience are not at odds with persistence and honesty. And there is already such joy in life and in living. To be able to fully involve myself, that may be additionally joyful.
It is not necessarily possible, I believe, to exert complete control over thoughts and attention. it is not impossible to be present and engaged most of the time: even in the even that 'present' is somewhere .... else.
Friday, 19 February 2010
Lent Day 3
Right. Day 3. I have spent the day thinking, while knowing full well that it was not the case, that today was Day 4.
Realized that to think of this 40 days as a test is to establish it as a challenge that is perhaps not what I'm interested in facing. It is not whether I will keep the rules that I've set myself or not, it is implied and known that I will. What is unknown is the experience of doing so and also the experience of life in this time.
Today I found myself paying very close attention to my muscles stretched and held an form all twisty-round. The seconds and breaths were about awareness of posture and tension and musculature.
And red lentil soup. On which I have just stuffed myself. (by the by - always have a recipe for this, along with an onion, tomatoes, red lentil, cardamom, garlic, cinnamon and a bit of chili powder on hand. you will thank me later. really.)
Last evening's reading of Bozo Sapiens brought this wonderful information into my life: 'Want to be more perceptive and engaged in the world? Stop eating: ghrelin, the resulting hormone, boosts learning capacity to such a degree that the researcher who found the connection speculated that "perhaps the cognitive brain is a side-effect of hunger." (Nature Neuroscience, vol. 9, Feb. 19, 2006. p 381-88)( New Scientist, Feb. 25, 2006, Andy Coghlan) - Must here say that I very much distrust speculation - if the evidence is there, that is fine, but speculation is bad science.
As for yoga: The Circular Motion exercise is the only one that has never really made sense in practice or on paper. It still doesn't.
There is no real certainty in this. Decisions must still be made whose impact on my life will be felt beyond Easter. Also, I've to do dishes and want to wait until at least tomorrow evening. If not the day after. I have a very long day tomorrow and am very tempted to take a shower and get into bed and read Martha Nussbaum until I fall asleep and dream of characters as letters moving in a dance over a broad stage, singing to me their names and various histories, presenting to me more layers than one night's dreaming can reveal or understand, while outside the steps where I sit for many nights in focused attentiveness, the world begins to name itself with symbols and sounds carried proudly aloft or discretely sewn in a pocket, perhaps tucked away, as mine is, just behind an ear, protected by the hairline and the relative grandeur of the appendage.
I remembered today to buy toothpaste.
Realized that to think of this 40 days as a test is to establish it as a challenge that is perhaps not what I'm interested in facing. It is not whether I will keep the rules that I've set myself or not, it is implied and known that I will. What is unknown is the experience of doing so and also the experience of life in this time.
Today I found myself paying very close attention to my muscles stretched and held an form all twisty-round. The seconds and breaths were about awareness of posture and tension and musculature.
And red lentil soup. On which I have just stuffed myself. (by the by - always have a recipe for this, along with an onion, tomatoes, red lentil, cardamom, garlic, cinnamon and a bit of chili powder on hand. you will thank me later. really.)
Last evening's reading of Bozo Sapiens brought this wonderful information into my life: 'Want to be more perceptive and engaged in the world? Stop eating: ghrelin, the resulting hormone, boosts learning capacity to such a degree that the researcher who found the connection speculated that "perhaps the cognitive brain is a side-effect of hunger." (Nature Neuroscience, vol. 9, Feb. 19, 2006. p 381-88)( New Scientist, Feb. 25, 2006, Andy Coghlan) - Must here say that I very much distrust speculation - if the evidence is there, that is fine, but speculation is bad science.
As for yoga: The Circular Motion exercise is the only one that has never really made sense in practice or on paper. It still doesn't.
There is no real certainty in this. Decisions must still be made whose impact on my life will be felt beyond Easter. Also, I've to do dishes and want to wait until at least tomorrow evening. If not the day after. I have a very long day tomorrow and am very tempted to take a shower and get into bed and read Martha Nussbaum until I fall asleep and dream of characters as letters moving in a dance over a broad stage, singing to me their names and various histories, presenting to me more layers than one night's dreaming can reveal or understand, while outside the steps where I sit for many nights in focused attentiveness, the world begins to name itself with symbols and sounds carried proudly aloft or discretely sewn in a pocket, perhaps tucked away, as mine is, just behind an ear, protected by the hairline and the relative grandeur of the appendage.
I remembered today to buy toothpaste.
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Lent Day 3
Starting to get throat cold and cannot have spicy soup as has pork in it. Reading Manguel opens wolds of annotative potential. Find myself choosing to live the experience rather than mapping it. Though as I track my pages read count, I leave clues for later me to re-trace and even perhaps to record again. Boileau.
I walked downtown and learned that I have temp hours for the near foreseeable future, but am still reminded of the need to be frugal and responsible with time, energy and money. Frugal is not fearful. It is aware and creative and resourceful.
Slept very soundly last night. I was, quite honestly, somewhat surprised.
2nd day of yoga shows more of what the 1st day did: tense tension tense. It's more than a little surprising, honestly. Ah, ego. Also, I think more than a little uncomfortably of my first husband and wonder how much I've been carrying around with me that is that kind of old and potentially harmful. It's only certain moves thus far, though I've not yet come to the back push-up and I am nervous about it.
I've made black beans & rice - started it & washed some dishes before yoga. Seems a good balance of time - start something that takes 30 or so minutes to cook & spend the time well, then rest and have some water and decide what to listen to during the meal.
Finished the Byzantium lectures tonight. Will have to take some notes: Crusades, Greek history 19th & 20th cent., Latin, Ancient Greek, libraries in Constantinople, the Crusader kingdom, Kingdom of Heaven (the film), superstitions, angels, gates of magic, doing penance to gain God's forgiveness & favor <-- now that's one I relate very strongly my personal experience.
Probably I would not use the word God or appeal to God. It is more about gaining the right to forgive or release myself from whatever routines or mindsets or debts I owe to the world or specific people or my past. While iconoclasm is very definitely not how I approach such action, I understand the motivation to make every act one that finds favor with God. My own impatiences tend to be riled in less visible ways, though I am no less severe with them (if not nearly so effective).
Home is place of almost endless possibility for creativity and learning. It is overwhelming and sometimes seems distracting.
I walked downtown and learned that I have temp hours for the near foreseeable future, but am still reminded of the need to be frugal and responsible with time, energy and money. Frugal is not fearful. It is aware and creative and resourceful.
Slept very soundly last night. I was, quite honestly, somewhat surprised.
2nd day of yoga shows more of what the 1st day did: tense tension tense. It's more than a little surprising, honestly. Ah, ego. Also, I think more than a little uncomfortably of my first husband and wonder how much I've been carrying around with me that is that kind of old and potentially harmful. It's only certain moves thus far, though I've not yet come to the back push-up and I am nervous about it.
I've made black beans & rice - started it & washed some dishes before yoga. Seems a good balance of time - start something that takes 30 or so minutes to cook & spend the time well, then rest and have some water and decide what to listen to during the meal.
Finished the Byzantium lectures tonight. Will have to take some notes: Crusades, Greek history 19th & 20th cent., Latin, Ancient Greek, libraries in Constantinople, the Crusader kingdom, Kingdom of Heaven (the film), superstitions, angels, gates of magic, doing penance to gain God's forgiveness & favor <-- now that's one I relate very strongly my personal experience.
Probably I would not use the word God or appeal to God. It is more about gaining the right to forgive or release myself from whatever routines or mindsets or debts I owe to the world or specific people or my past. While iconoclasm is very definitely not how I approach such action, I understand the motivation to make every act one that finds favor with God. My own impatiences tend to be riled in less visible ways, though I am no less severe with them (if not nearly so effective).
Home is place of almost endless possibility for creativity and learning. It is overwhelming and sometimes seems distracting.
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
Lent Day 1
Today is the first day of Lent, 2010. The decision to change much about my daily habits is, I allow, completely insane. It is also something that I've wanted to do for months, and as I do not see myself moving into the forest for 40 days in search of understanding or enlightenment or closeness to God, I have made the choice to go without in different ways, no less shocking, tho far more modern & possible. Also, there will be coffee and chocolate. Yes.
So. I've eaten no meat today - 2 bean & cheese burritos, coffee, chocolate cake, tea, iced lemon muffin. I am hungry for rice, I think, so may make some and hard-boil an egg for a late snack. I've dumped the last mouthful of wine from a leftover glass and unplugged the TV stuff. I've also read more than 60 pages of a book about A History of Reading, and have determined to finish The Story of Language by Mario Pei before I embark on A History of Writing (1984) which must naturally have a place in all this study. Also, yoga - haven't done that yet - this it will be a nice segue into the evenings' craft work and listening - I think I shall hear more of Byzantium tonight. Tomorrow will be a good day for the red lentil soup, I feel, and to finish cleaning and clearing out the refrigerator and freezer.
My dreams begin to resist my efforts at keeping them from terrifying me. I am not sure what this spring will bring.
NaNo has given me the ability to believe that I can accomplish ridiculous things & now it is about perpetuation of that behavior, the place where it begins to become habit.
For change to be meaningful and the world after it's done to be sustainable and positive ans what was aimed for, even a little, it must be deeply felt and in this case deliberately enacted and carefully considered. Oddly, once I made the Life List of Lent*, it all made sense and there was no need to add or subtract anything. Today involved a certain degree of awareness and I anticipate more than a little antsy behavior as the 40** days continue.
Evening walks are good and there are enough projects to keep me occupied and invigorated and walking the rails through lands of reality & imagined surrounding & the dream life for me to be at once involved and overwhelmed and maybe even learn how to get used to it and feel more self control with it also. It is slow and requires faith and focus and deliberately chosen food.
Change, for me, is in the depths, not the details.
*Life List of Lent
**technically, it's 47 days. minus Sundays. Because that's how New Math works.
So. I've eaten no meat today - 2 bean & cheese burritos, coffee, chocolate cake, tea, iced lemon muffin. I am hungry for rice, I think, so may make some and hard-boil an egg for a late snack. I've dumped the last mouthful of wine from a leftover glass and unplugged the TV stuff. I've also read more than 60 pages of a book about A History of Reading, and have determined to finish The Story of Language by Mario Pei before I embark on A History of Writing (1984) which must naturally have a place in all this study. Also, yoga - haven't done that yet - this it will be a nice segue into the evenings' craft work and listening - I think I shall hear more of Byzantium tonight. Tomorrow will be a good day for the red lentil soup, I feel, and to finish cleaning and clearing out the refrigerator and freezer.
My dreams begin to resist my efforts at keeping them from terrifying me. I am not sure what this spring will bring.
NaNo has given me the ability to believe that I can accomplish ridiculous things & now it is about perpetuation of that behavior, the place where it begins to become habit.
For change to be meaningful and the world after it's done to be sustainable and positive ans what was aimed for, even a little, it must be deeply felt and in this case deliberately enacted and carefully considered. Oddly, once I made the Life List of Lent*, it all made sense and there was no need to add or subtract anything. Today involved a certain degree of awareness and I anticipate more than a little antsy behavior as the 40** days continue.
Evening walks are good and there are enough projects to keep me occupied and invigorated and walking the rails through lands of reality & imagined surrounding & the dream life for me to be at once involved and overwhelmed and maybe even learn how to get used to it and feel more self control with it also. It is slow and requires faith and focus and deliberately chosen food.
Change, for me, is in the depths, not the details.
*Life List of Lent
**technically, it's 47 days. minus Sundays. Because that's how New Math works.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Lent 2010
Life List of Lent
no drinking
no smoking
no meat
no TV/DVD/VCR in the house
yoga every day*
work every scheduled shift
...which is all fine and good. I allowed Thursdays off for the meat and alcohol as that is the night of dinner with friends and there are enough dietary restrictions already, I had no desire to add to them.
*My yoga practice will follow a book that I bought when I worked at a bookstore some 16 years ago. I've begun the program before, but never stuck with it for the entire 28 days and am convinced that it is time to try it again. (again)
Also, I am allowed as much coffee and chocolate as I can stand and whenever I need it.
Still working to reach my reading goal of 100 pages a day. Will keep daily journal to track yoga progress.
no drinking
no smoking
no meat
no TV/DVD/VCR in the house
yoga every day*
work every scheduled shift
...which is all fine and good. I allowed Thursdays off for the meat and alcohol as that is the night of dinner with friends and there are enough dietary restrictions already, I had no desire to add to them.
*My yoga practice will follow a book that I bought when I worked at a bookstore some 16 years ago. I've begun the program before, but never stuck with it for the entire 28 days and am convinced that it is time to try it again. (again)
Also, I am allowed as much coffee and chocolate as I can stand and whenever I need it.
Still working to reach my reading goal of 100 pages a day. Will keep daily journal to track yoga progress.
Saturday, 9 January 2010
Loose ends
Extra long yarn ends, not fringe, define the change of place, of color, of steps to take to the end of the work.
I used all four colors that will go into the finished piece. The arrangement is something I'm a bit nervous about. The couple I'm making this for is very stylish and I'm not sure that I'm okay with the idea of giving them something that they will not like to have about their home. The idea is that it will go over the back of their couch or perhaps over a lap or under a pillow. It is not correct that this should be entirely about the person who made it, and yet, I must be a part of this, as they are a part of me and the gift is as well. Tonight I will ponder the color charting of the work, and the width and length that will best suit its purpose.
I have not written anything of the novel still this year. I suspect that I am waiting for something, but it all honesty I do not know what that is, and if I don't find it soon, I'll just make it up.
I've to make a list of things to do today. Which is always the first thing on my lists of things to do.
This morning found me pinned underneath cuddly felines, reading about developments and changes in word separation and writing and copying. "Protoscholastics" is now my new favorite word.
It is cold today and we're all used to it now, so everyone is out and about in the world, reading books, using Internet, listening to music.
I used all four colors that will go into the finished piece. The arrangement is something I'm a bit nervous about. The couple I'm making this for is very stylish and I'm not sure that I'm okay with the idea of giving them something that they will not like to have about their home. The idea is that it will go over the back of their couch or perhaps over a lap or under a pillow. It is not correct that this should be entirely about the person who made it, and yet, I must be a part of this, as they are a part of me and the gift is as well. Tonight I will ponder the color charting of the work, and the width and length that will best suit its purpose.
I have not written anything of the novel still this year. I suspect that I am waiting for something, but it all honesty I do not know what that is, and if I don't find it soon, I'll just make it up.
I've to make a list of things to do today. Which is always the first thing on my lists of things to do.
This morning found me pinned underneath cuddly felines, reading about developments and changes in word separation and writing and copying. "Protoscholastics" is now my new favorite word.
It is cold today and we're all used to it now, so everyone is out and about in the world, reading books, using Internet, listening to music.
Friday, 8 January 2010
Tracks in the snow
The knitting projects for the year have begun, in grand fashion. This is not to say that there is anything grand or glorious about collecting needles and yarn and pattern and focus, rather that both of the projects I will begin soon are huge and will take many months to complete. The patterns are entirely new to me, and I've decided to be smart about them (as the finished projects are gifts for other people) and make actual swatches, to scale replicas, if you will, not only for practice and note-taking purposes, but also to have some remnant of the things in my home.
Not every project must be large and impossible. There is a need for fingerless gloves and perhaps even socks. A pattern has been chosen for the cabling that I would like to use on both of them. I find the idea matching gloves with socks deeply silly and wonder where the hell it came from. I feel that thick wool boot socks and matching gloves in various shades of orange and purple and green will be a lovely addition to my winter wardrobe. One of these years.
The small projects; the ones that take an hour or two; the ones that take an hour or two every day for a week - these are the ones that keep me focused on the larger ones. I learn more about consistency. I have something to do. Results are not necessarily immediate, but they are noticeable. and I've got stuff to show off to people. Which is always the goal, na?
I've broken the big projects down as much as I can. The house, the afghan, the couch runner thing, the novel. The novel is the one that has the most little steps. I've got an idea board for it. I've got ideas. The time is a little more haphazard right now as there is much going on. That will get worked out. Because it is a nice little project to sit with the calendar and my work schedule and move around each other for a little while.
Last night I began the replica of the couch runner thing. I've altered the pattern slightly to accommodate the yarn and needles that I've to use. This will be the first project involving more than one color that I've done in a very long time, and I'm more than a bit nervous, so the color change practice is good. It is good to just jump into a thing, knowing that there are more jumps ahead, never fear about the lack of challenge.
Also - oh, yeah, there's an also - the reading. I love the reading. but there's a hell of a lot of it to do this lifetime. The library that I leave to the world will be my gift to the next me. This is my reading list. What is yours?
The world here is cold, so cold that we all wish to be fitted inside with blankets and warm drinks. Our wishes go unfulfilled and the outdoors calls with sunshine and snow and we walk around in a daze, not quite believing where we are. These are days of coffee shops and long lunches and plans for winter adventures in snow-covered cemeteries in boots and gloves and many long layers under something lovely in flowing skirt. There is quiet in the walking, even the crunch does not always travel as far as it could. We will speak of fairies and families and perfect picnics as we take pulls from flasks of liquid warm and spicy. Our feet will freeze and our noses will turn us all into shunned reindeer and when we go home and finally sleep the dreams will dance in delight because their world has been given beauty and cold and spice.
Not every project must be large and impossible. There is a need for fingerless gloves and perhaps even socks. A pattern has been chosen for the cabling that I would like to use on both of them. I find the idea matching gloves with socks deeply silly and wonder where the hell it came from. I feel that thick wool boot socks and matching gloves in various shades of orange and purple and green will be a lovely addition to my winter wardrobe. One of these years.
The small projects; the ones that take an hour or two; the ones that take an hour or two every day for a week - these are the ones that keep me focused on the larger ones. I learn more about consistency. I have something to do. Results are not necessarily immediate, but they are noticeable. and I've got stuff to show off to people. Which is always the goal, na?
I've broken the big projects down as much as I can. The house, the afghan, the couch runner thing, the novel. The novel is the one that has the most little steps. I've got an idea board for it. I've got ideas. The time is a little more haphazard right now as there is much going on. That will get worked out. Because it is a nice little project to sit with the calendar and my work schedule and move around each other for a little while.
Last night I began the replica of the couch runner thing. I've altered the pattern slightly to accommodate the yarn and needles that I've to use. This will be the first project involving more than one color that I've done in a very long time, and I'm more than a bit nervous, so the color change practice is good. It is good to just jump into a thing, knowing that there are more jumps ahead, never fear about the lack of challenge.
Also - oh, yeah, there's an also - the reading. I love the reading. but there's a hell of a lot of it to do this lifetime. The library that I leave to the world will be my gift to the next me. This is my reading list. What is yours?
The world here is cold, so cold that we all wish to be fitted inside with blankets and warm drinks. Our wishes go unfulfilled and the outdoors calls with sunshine and snow and we walk around in a daze, not quite believing where we are. These are days of coffee shops and long lunches and plans for winter adventures in snow-covered cemeteries in boots and gloves and many long layers under something lovely in flowing skirt. There is quiet in the walking, even the crunch does not always travel as far as it could. We will speak of fairies and families and perfect picnics as we take pulls from flasks of liquid warm and spicy. Our feet will freeze and our noses will turn us all into shunned reindeer and when we go home and finally sleep the dreams will dance in delight because their world has been given beauty and cold and spice.
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Well, what of it?
It is the time of year for me to make no resolutions, plan nothing and generally not re-evaluate my life and activities in general.
It is also the time of year when I and all of the people I know spend enormous amounts of time stuck inside for many many hours and days on end because Mother Nature thinks it's funny to send us all around the bend with mild stale breath poisoning. So I go through my stuff. And I start thinking about why I have all of the stuff that I still have. And I listen to lectures on CD, or music or movie commentaries and I knit or sort papers or wind yarn or bother to open three different tubs and take out the necessary materials to make a sort of pin-stuff-to-it board that I really need to have around the place (I need more than one, actually) in order to put up the cards and things that I've got ideas and sentences written on so that novel that I started waaay back in November (you know, for nanowrimo?) won't languish in the pits of my guilt-filled hatbox of shit that never saw the light of day.
Because these things are in my home, and they are a part of me, and I am more than a little in love with them both right now. The commitment is a long-term one, you know? It isn't about the long ass blog post that will not be followed with anything for months until I have a fit of the 'must communicates' like I'm having right now. Nor is it about making one huge installation piece of yarn and recycled grocery bags and bits of chewed gum for my living room. These are small steps and terrifying because they build up and life changes and it almost never happens in any predictable shiny happy dreamtime kind of ways. I've made a rug. and a thing to stick cards to. and I've started fingerless gloves. The pile of books to read is lovely and not daunting, but damn if it isn't going to challenge me.
It could be just the timing of it. Could be coincidence. Could be that I'm just ready for things to happen. Could be the New Year.
Don't really care. It's happening and the movements have become forces in some direction that I know I've determined, but I certainly don't know the terrain yet.
It is also the time of year when I and all of the people I know spend enormous amounts of time stuck inside for many many hours and days on end because Mother Nature thinks it's funny to send us all around the bend with mild stale breath poisoning. So I go through my stuff. And I start thinking about why I have all of the stuff that I still have. And I listen to lectures on CD, or music or movie commentaries and I knit or sort papers or wind yarn or bother to open three different tubs and take out the necessary materials to make a sort of pin-stuff-to-it board that I really need to have around the place (I need more than one, actually) in order to put up the cards and things that I've got ideas and sentences written on so that novel that I started waaay back in November (you know, for nanowrimo?) won't languish in the pits of my guilt-filled hatbox of shit that never saw the light of day.
Because these things are in my home, and they are a part of me, and I am more than a little in love with them both right now. The commitment is a long-term one, you know? It isn't about the long ass blog post that will not be followed with anything for months until I have a fit of the 'must communicates' like I'm having right now. Nor is it about making one huge installation piece of yarn and recycled grocery bags and bits of chewed gum for my living room. These are small steps and terrifying because they build up and life changes and it almost never happens in any predictable shiny happy dreamtime kind of ways. I've made a rug. and a thing to stick cards to. and I've started fingerless gloves. The pile of books to read is lovely and not daunting, but damn if it isn't going to challenge me.
It could be just the timing of it. Could be coincidence. Could be that I'm just ready for things to happen. Could be the New Year.
Don't really care. It's happening and the movements have become forces in some direction that I know I've determined, but I certainly don't know the terrain yet.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Calm down, you haven't known each other that long,
There is no reason to get excited. Nothing to see. No need to panic. It's just something new, that's all. Find a place for it in the world around the desk and the dishes and the cuddly demanding felines.
New friendships are always of interest to me, partly because I enjoy people and learning new people is an absolute plus. Partly because I like the people I hang around. They bring an enormous amount to my life and I hope that I share some of that back with them.
The known friendships are the theme of the moment, though. Who else hangs around for 8 hour breakfasts that do not even involve eggs? or bacon? Only coffee. Lots and lots of coffee for me, thank you! Ah. The joys of over-caffeinated self-dom. Oh, and there was a cinnamon roll and also a blueberry muffin, and also a cup of tea. But I didn't drink the tea, someone else did. The ninja. There was grocery shopping (we did not buy the fingerless gloves), and drugstore shopping (we did not buy the toe-d socks), new age store shopping (I totally bought the date book) in two places and even a trip to the Goodwill (no mojo, no wardrobe addition). It was brilliant. And there is more cheese in the house. And the cats were content to be fed and have new food.
When they left, I sat me down and pulled out some index type cards and made lists for menus and activities for the next few days. Now I do laundry and hang out with the parents and say nothing of the felines who captivate my attention when that attention could really be doing other things. Dreams float up through my memories and entertain me with their vivid disturbing obvious images. It is good these days. This writing and thinking and now laughing and learning and many much words in conversation is good. This is the bliss. Well, mostly. Better paycheck, or more assured paycheck with benefits, or more bills paid and immediate needs met. These, though, are manageable.
Superheroes were in town today for the parade. gak. We heard that there was some awesome Matrix action getting the balloons under the Skywalk. And that Kermit had some issues with a traffic light. It's not easy being green.
There are always boundaries. These are not impediments, they are not problematic, they are part of what defines one relationship from another. There are certain conversations that will not be had concerning this or that. It is a matter of privacy, and also trust, not necessarily of the listener, but of the subject, the person of whom we speak. The last month was very inwardly focused. My father finished his dissertation, friends got married, friends studied and created in classes, I wrote for NaNo. We have not seen much of each other, have not chatted aimlessly around the place enjoying the sounds of each others' vocabularies, hearing sense and understanding and accusations of thwartment or squishing or ninja-creep, etc. The rhythms are reminders that the new friends are good, and that there is always room for more when more are compassionate, understanding and patient.
Now, if only the boy would make some sense of things, I wouldn't have to feel like I'm rushing anything because I could blame him, and then everything would be just fine, thank you very much!
Only, no. It's time to calm down. We haven't known each other that long. And, really, I do have things I need and want to do.
New friendships are always of interest to me, partly because I enjoy people and learning new people is an absolute plus. Partly because I like the people I hang around. They bring an enormous amount to my life and I hope that I share some of that back with them.
The known friendships are the theme of the moment, though. Who else hangs around for 8 hour breakfasts that do not even involve eggs? or bacon? Only coffee. Lots and lots of coffee for me, thank you! Ah. The joys of over-caffeinated self-dom. Oh, and there was a cinnamon roll and also a blueberry muffin, and also a cup of tea. But I didn't drink the tea, someone else did. The ninja. There was grocery shopping (we did not buy the fingerless gloves), and drugstore shopping (we did not buy the toe-d socks), new age store shopping (I totally bought the date book) in two places and even a trip to the Goodwill (no mojo, no wardrobe addition). It was brilliant. And there is more cheese in the house. And the cats were content to be fed and have new food.
When they left, I sat me down and pulled out some index type cards and made lists for menus and activities for the next few days. Now I do laundry and hang out with the parents and say nothing of the felines who captivate my attention when that attention could really be doing other things. Dreams float up through my memories and entertain me with their vivid disturbing obvious images. It is good these days. This writing and thinking and now laughing and learning and many much words in conversation is good. This is the bliss. Well, mostly. Better paycheck, or more assured paycheck with benefits, or more bills paid and immediate needs met. These, though, are manageable.
Superheroes were in town today for the parade. gak. We heard that there was some awesome Matrix action getting the balloons under the Skywalk. And that Kermit had some issues with a traffic light. It's not easy being green.
There are always boundaries. These are not impediments, they are not problematic, they are part of what defines one relationship from another. There are certain conversations that will not be had concerning this or that. It is a matter of privacy, and also trust, not necessarily of the listener, but of the subject, the person of whom we speak. The last month was very inwardly focused. My father finished his dissertation, friends got married, friends studied and created in classes, I wrote for NaNo. We have not seen much of each other, have not chatted aimlessly around the place enjoying the sounds of each others' vocabularies, hearing sense and understanding and accusations of thwartment or squishing or ninja-creep, etc. The rhythms are reminders that the new friends are good, and that there is always room for more when more are compassionate, understanding and patient.
Now, if only the boy would make some sense of things, I wouldn't have to feel like I'm rushing anything because I could blame him, and then everything would be just fine, thank you very much!
Only, no. It's time to calm down. We haven't known each other that long. And, really, I do have things I need and want to do.
Friday, 4 December 2009
Well now, what's this?
Unethical? Illegal, even?
meh.
The day is one that may or may not be one that has a place in the building of a future. The week of the full moon brought a doctorate for my father, NaNo finished and won, marriages and plays and many accomplishments large and small all around the world I move around. With a complication. Who is nice. It is interesting and frustrating and altogether new.
There is not too very much to say today, it is all made of frustration and annoyance anyway.
This is what happens when friends come to visit. It is brilliant and beautiful and the best!
I'll drop by again. Later. For more, and more words and more focus.
No.
Really.
meh.
The day is one that may or may not be one that has a place in the building of a future. The week of the full moon brought a doctorate for my father, NaNo finished and won, marriages and plays and many accomplishments large and small all around the world I move around. With a complication. Who is nice. It is interesting and frustrating and altogether new.
There is not too very much to say today, it is all made of frustration and annoyance anyway.
This is what happens when friends come to visit. It is brilliant and beautiful and the best!
I'll drop by again. Later. For more, and more words and more focus.
No.
Really.
Friday, 10 July 2009
Movie mini-reviews: next!
Journey to the Center of the Earth (the new one): Adventure a la video game with Brandon Fraser sweating and being generally adorable? yes, please...
Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995): The movie that propelled Shahrukh Khan to mega stardom and celebrated its 700th week in theaters in March of 2009. It is a romance threatened by arranged marriage and all sorts of difficulties. The music is beautiful, Kajol shines (as she always does) and it is a joy to watch Shahrukh Khan dance.
Drona (2008): Fantasy epic with Abishek Bachchan, Priyanka Chopra and Kay Kay Menon. I will adore a movie with Kay Kay Menon in an instant. He is such a talented actor and as the bad guy/demon dude is as enjoyable as Alan Rickman in Robin Hood. If not more - cuz he's a demon! The actors do most of their own stunts, which is a little disconcerting at first, I am used to green screens and stunt doubles: semi-real looks kind of fake at first. My only real issue with the movie is one song. That hurts me. You'll know it when it starts, just hit mute and wait for the story to pick up. Really.
Honeymoon Travels Private Ltd. (2007): Ensemble piece about 6 newly married couples on a honeymoon tour of Goa. Did I mention the part about how I adore Kay Kay Menon? Yeah, he's in this. As are Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi - two actors who just make me happy, they are so good. I would recommend seeing Om Shanti Om or Don first, just for the joke. It's worth it.
Don (2006 & 1978): Mistaken identity gangster/cop movie with dancing? The new one features Shahrukh Khan as Don, some incredible fight scenes and much travel in Malaysia. Amitabh Bachchan originated the role in the 70's film, and it is totally worthwhile to see both of them. The first half of the movies are almost identical except for the clothes. There are some unreal fights and moments in both of the movies, thought the 70's movie suffers a bit more for them - at least according to one of my friends, but I thought it was brilliant. Good music, good acting, and I would still like someone to explain to me why the new Don is as good a movie as it is, because I can't explain it.
The Spirit (2009): I love movies based on comics that I've never read, and likely never will. Also, I love Samuel L. Jackson. 'nuff said.
The Punisher (2008): See above. Subsitute Ray Stevenson. Yummy bone crunching guns go 'splodey...
The Blue Umbrella (2007): My new favorite director is Vishal Bhardwaj, who also directed Omkara, about which I will rave whenever given the chance. Or just whenever. The film is based on a children's novel about a young girl who trades a necklace for a blue umbrella which becomes the object of desire for some others in her village. It is absolutely serene and pointed and a joy.
The Complete Works of Shakespeare (abridged) (2000): What utter joy and parody and romp and ridiculous in wigs with skirts! They are going to perform at the Lied Center in March of 2010 and I'm already all sweaty about it if that tells you anything. Funny men are just fucking awesome.
Pulse: A Stomp Odyssey (2002): This is one of those films that really highlights the power of film when used for a specific purpose: to showcase the rhythms that people around the world experience and create and have for centuries or decades or years or days. It is bright and brilliant and moves from one clip to the next without losing a flow or leaving the viewer/listener wondering what would happen next, how the song would end - although it is a survey, intended to fire curiosity and awareness, which it does. It was good for my soul. Captivating.
Everybody Says I'm Fine (2001): Tale of a hair-dresser/salon owner in Bombay who hears the thoughts of his clients through their hair as he cuts it and what happens when he meets a woman whose thoughts are closed to him. Best line (that gets quoted frequently): "your saintly soul behind benign eyes..." Very odd movie. Much beloved. In English. And hey, surprise Boman Irani!
Slumdog Millionaire (2008): Seriously? You didn't see it? Okay, it's at the library, check it out. We'll talk after.
Bandidas (2006): Could Penelope Cruz and Salma Hayek be any more fabulous? No? I didn't think so. This is not a chick flick. This is a movie for the girlz. Just saying. I want them to make more.
The Librarian: Quest for the Spear (2004)
The Librarian: Return to King Solomon's Mines (2006)
The Librarian: Curse of the Judas Chalice (2008): Noah Wylie gets to be cute and funny and action-hero-y and get and lose the girl! How do you not love this? Formulaic and slightly more than a little moralistic and fun. Bob Newhart and Jane Curtin and Olympia Dukakis are a more than excellent supporting (literally) cast. The Library itself is the stuff of story-telling and imagination. I hope they make more.
Swades (2004): Shahrukh Khan as a NASA scientist who travels back to India to find his former nanny and bring her to the States so that he can care for her in her dotage. It doesn't work out that way. I loved this movie. I would like to see the longer version that was released in India, but as I do not (as yet) speak Hindi, and the only copy we have around is not subtitled (although the subtitles for this movie lend credence to the opinions of people who think subtitles are stupid (check out my entry on the King James Version of the song lyrics)), I will be patient and persist. The music and landscape are sweeping, the story very simple and straightforward and deeply moving, especially as I am one of those who finds belonging to a land incredibly powerful and moving (the child of Vikings and colonizers and wanderers finds home more transient than most).
Death at a Funeral (2007): British farce done very well. The grinning scene is worth everything. Avoid the commentary with Frank Oz, though. I found it difficult and sort of, um, repetitive? Alan Tudyk is just brilliant. As is Matthew Macfadyen. Fun Fun Fun.
Thus concludes this installment! I will turn the page before next time and we'll see how long it takes to catch up! (should be about two more entries before I'm current)
Enjoy!
Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995): The movie that propelled Shahrukh Khan to mega stardom and celebrated its 700th week in theaters in March of 2009. It is a romance threatened by arranged marriage and all sorts of difficulties. The music is beautiful, Kajol shines (as she always does) and it is a joy to watch Shahrukh Khan dance.
Drona (2008): Fantasy epic with Abishek Bachchan, Priyanka Chopra and Kay Kay Menon. I will adore a movie with Kay Kay Menon in an instant. He is such a talented actor and as the bad guy/demon dude is as enjoyable as Alan Rickman in Robin Hood. If not more - cuz he's a demon! The actors do most of their own stunts, which is a little disconcerting at first, I am used to green screens and stunt doubles: semi-real looks kind of fake at first. My only real issue with the movie is one song. That hurts me. You'll know it when it starts, just hit mute and wait for the story to pick up. Really.
Honeymoon Travels Private Ltd. (2007): Ensemble piece about 6 newly married couples on a honeymoon tour of Goa. Did I mention the part about how I adore Kay Kay Menon? Yeah, he's in this. As are Boman Irani and Shabana Azmi - two actors who just make me happy, they are so good. I would recommend seeing Om Shanti Om or Don first, just for the joke. It's worth it.
Don (2006 & 1978): Mistaken identity gangster/cop movie with dancing? The new one features Shahrukh Khan as Don, some incredible fight scenes and much travel in Malaysia. Amitabh Bachchan originated the role in the 70's film, and it is totally worthwhile to see both of them. The first half of the movies are almost identical except for the clothes. There are some unreal fights and moments in both of the movies, thought the 70's movie suffers a bit more for them - at least according to one of my friends, but I thought it was brilliant. Good music, good acting, and I would still like someone to explain to me why the new Don is as good a movie as it is, because I can't explain it.
The Spirit (2009): I love movies based on comics that I've never read, and likely never will. Also, I love Samuel L. Jackson. 'nuff said.
The Punisher (2008): See above. Subsitute Ray Stevenson. Yummy bone crunching guns go 'splodey...
The Blue Umbrella (2007): My new favorite director is Vishal Bhardwaj, who also directed Omkara, about which I will rave whenever given the chance. Or just whenever. The film is based on a children's novel about a young girl who trades a necklace for a blue umbrella which becomes the object of desire for some others in her village. It is absolutely serene and pointed and a joy.
The Complete Works of Shakespeare (abridged) (2000): What utter joy and parody and romp and ridiculous in wigs with skirts! They are going to perform at the Lied Center in March of 2010 and I'm already all sweaty about it if that tells you anything. Funny men are just fucking awesome.
Pulse: A Stomp Odyssey (2002): This is one of those films that really highlights the power of film when used for a specific purpose: to showcase the rhythms that people around the world experience and create and have for centuries or decades or years or days. It is bright and brilliant and moves from one clip to the next without losing a flow or leaving the viewer/listener wondering what would happen next, how the song would end - although it is a survey, intended to fire curiosity and awareness, which it does. It was good for my soul. Captivating.
Everybody Says I'm Fine (2001): Tale of a hair-dresser/salon owner in Bombay who hears the thoughts of his clients through their hair as he cuts it and what happens when he meets a woman whose thoughts are closed to him. Best line (that gets quoted frequently): "your saintly soul behind benign eyes..." Very odd movie. Much beloved. In English. And hey, surprise Boman Irani!
Slumdog Millionaire (2008): Seriously? You didn't see it? Okay, it's at the library, check it out. We'll talk after.
Bandidas (2006): Could Penelope Cruz and Salma Hayek be any more fabulous? No? I didn't think so. This is not a chick flick. This is a movie for the girlz. Just saying. I want them to make more.
The Librarian: Quest for the Spear (2004)
The Librarian: Return to King Solomon's Mines (2006)
The Librarian: Curse of the Judas Chalice (2008): Noah Wylie gets to be cute and funny and action-hero-y and get and lose the girl! How do you not love this? Formulaic and slightly more than a little moralistic and fun. Bob Newhart and Jane Curtin and Olympia Dukakis are a more than excellent supporting (literally) cast. The Library itself is the stuff of story-telling and imagination. I hope they make more.
Swades (2004): Shahrukh Khan as a NASA scientist who travels back to India to find his former nanny and bring her to the States so that he can care for her in her dotage. It doesn't work out that way. I loved this movie. I would like to see the longer version that was released in India, but as I do not (as yet) speak Hindi, and the only copy we have around is not subtitled (although the subtitles for this movie lend credence to the opinions of people who think subtitles are stupid (check out my entry on the King James Version of the song lyrics)), I will be patient and persist. The music and landscape are sweeping, the story very simple and straightforward and deeply moving, especially as I am one of those who finds belonging to a land incredibly powerful and moving (the child of Vikings and colonizers and wanderers finds home more transient than most).
Death at a Funeral (2007): British farce done very well. The grinning scene is worth everything. Avoid the commentary with Frank Oz, though. I found it difficult and sort of, um, repetitive? Alan Tudyk is just brilliant. As is Matthew Macfadyen. Fun Fun Fun.
Thus concludes this installment! I will turn the page before next time and we'll see how long it takes to catch up! (should be about two more entries before I'm current)
Enjoy!
Monday, 29 June 2009
Movie List: part, um, beginning?
I started keeping track of the movies that I watch. I began the list on the second of March of 2009 and tried to remember all of the movies that I had seen since December of 2008.
The list is getting a bit ridiculous.
However, somewhere around May, I met a woman who is just getting into many of the Indian movies that I watch like they are necessary for me to continue to exist. Because they are. I told her that I would send her the list of movies that I've seen and maybe make some recommendations.
It is now almost July. I have decided to do things this way. There will be more lists, as I watch about 2 movies a week. I am slowing down for need of other ways to spend my time, but still find film captivating.
I was going to link these, but imdb has crap for information and I just dislike linking wikipedia, even though there is far more info there. Or netflix. Probably Blockbuster as well. And some of them have myspace pages.
Jodhaa Akbar - historically flexible account of the Mughal Emperor Akbar who was Mulsim and Jodhaa, his Hindu princess wife. It is a stunning film, with that enveloping music that only AR Rahman can make.
Om Shanti Om - Shahrukh Khan in a reincarnation movie! With abs! The director, Farah Khan has this wonderful way with making homage to the movies of the '60s and '70s and poking an amount of fun at movies of the 90's and aughts. Colorful and fun and the music is wonderful.
Parineeta - I have seen both the 2005 and 1953 film adaptations of this 1914 novel. The story is lovely: childhood friends who become sweethearts just as the world begins to collapse around them. Ashok Kumar is a less smoldering Shekar than Saif Ali Khan, but he gets more romantic lines. Meena Kumari and Vidya Balan share something like luminescence, and you wonder how any man could fail to notice. I enjoyed both of these movies, and try to take time to watch the 2005 version at least once every few months. Speaking of...
Captain Blood - Errol Flynn & Olivia de Havilland in a movie that has a story and adventure and twists and strange Irish accents and palm trees and is generally wonderful. What I love, almost more than the sword fights and Basil Rathbone, is that this was the first film for both of the leads.
Red vs Blue seasons 1,2 and 3 - wrong. just wrong. animated web-isode show based on Halo. who knew? It is brilliant. and wrong.
Kal Ho Na Ho / Kuch Kuch Hota Hai - I mention these movies to introduce something that we like to call The Bad. Adored and respected actors in movies that are made of *headsmack* or "wtf?" moments. That is all.
Omkara - This movie is an adaptation of Othello. Omkara (the Othello character) could totally take Othello. (not Laurence Fishburne, mind (no one can take him)) Visually it is very deliberate and evocative. The acting is wonderful. The adaptation of the story is completely spot-on. I am fully convinced that this in one of the most perfect movies I have ever seen.
Paheli - Much color. Much big Rahman music. Much Shahrukh Khan and Rani Mukerji. It tells a kind of odd story about a ghost who falls in love with a woman and takes the place of her husband. It's totally worth it.
Dil Chahta Hai - Aamir Khan, Saif Ali Khan and Akshaye Khanna look fabulous and have wonderful moments in what is essentially a coming-of-age movie about three friends navigating through the world. Lovely shots of Goa. Fun music. There is some strange dancing,(we call this one Wiggly Arms) and a soul patch, but otherwise, a very good time.
Amar Akbar Anthony - If you only ever see one Amitabh Bachchan movie you are an idiot and need to re-evaluate your life's priorities. This is movie about three brothers who get separated when they are very very young, and taken in by three different foster fathers, one Catholic, one Hindu and one Muslim. It is delightful and enjoyable and if you can watch it with someone who can get through translating the opening song (which didn't have subtitles) you will thank me forever.
The Holiday - This movie is cute. It could have been better. It should have been better. Kate Winslet and Jack Black? That really could have worked more and better and funnier. I totally watched the making of featurette.
Serenity - um. I think I heard somewhere that there's a Commentary: The Musical because of people like Joss Whedon who are all brilliant and gen x and who read stuff. If you haven't seen it: Firefly and Serenity are brilliant. I love this movie so much it is not a topic for public discussion.
Rang de Basanti - watch this movie. invite me over. i will watch it with you. just have faith.
Jab We Met - This falls under the label OMG This is the Cutest Movie Ever! There are about 13 titles on the list right now. Boy is angsty and silent. Girl is chatty and bubbly. They meet on a train. Things go from there. It is not completely predictable. It is completely lovely and sweet.
You know who you are - hope this gives you a good start!
The list is getting a bit ridiculous.
However, somewhere around May, I met a woman who is just getting into many of the Indian movies that I watch like they are necessary for me to continue to exist. Because they are. I told her that I would send her the list of movies that I've seen and maybe make some recommendations.
It is now almost July. I have decided to do things this way. There will be more lists, as I watch about 2 movies a week. I am slowing down for need of other ways to spend my time, but still find film captivating.
I was going to link these, but imdb has crap for information and I just dislike linking wikipedia, even though there is far more info there. Or netflix. Probably Blockbuster as well. And some of them have myspace pages.
Jodhaa Akbar - historically flexible account of the Mughal Emperor Akbar who was Mulsim and Jodhaa, his Hindu princess wife. It is a stunning film, with that enveloping music that only AR Rahman can make.
Om Shanti Om - Shahrukh Khan in a reincarnation movie! With abs! The director, Farah Khan has this wonderful way with making homage to the movies of the '60s and '70s and poking an amount of fun at movies of the 90's and aughts. Colorful and fun and the music is wonderful.
Parineeta - I have seen both the 2005 and 1953 film adaptations of this 1914 novel. The story is lovely: childhood friends who become sweethearts just as the world begins to collapse around them. Ashok Kumar is a less smoldering Shekar than Saif Ali Khan, but he gets more romantic lines. Meena Kumari and Vidya Balan share something like luminescence, and you wonder how any man could fail to notice. I enjoyed both of these movies, and try to take time to watch the 2005 version at least once every few months. Speaking of...
Captain Blood - Errol Flynn & Olivia de Havilland in a movie that has a story and adventure and twists and strange Irish accents and palm trees and is generally wonderful. What I love, almost more than the sword fights and Basil Rathbone, is that this was the first film for both of the leads.
Red vs Blue seasons 1,2 and 3 - wrong. just wrong. animated web-isode show based on Halo. who knew? It is brilliant. and wrong.
Kal Ho Na Ho / Kuch Kuch Hota Hai - I mention these movies to introduce something that we like to call The Bad. Adored and respected actors in movies that are made of *headsmack* or "wtf?" moments. That is all.
Omkara - This movie is an adaptation of Othello. Omkara (the Othello character) could totally take Othello. (not Laurence Fishburne, mind (no one can take him)) Visually it is very deliberate and evocative. The acting is wonderful. The adaptation of the story is completely spot-on. I am fully convinced that this in one of the most perfect movies I have ever seen.
Paheli - Much color. Much big Rahman music. Much Shahrukh Khan and Rani Mukerji. It tells a kind of odd story about a ghost who falls in love with a woman and takes the place of her husband. It's totally worth it.
Dil Chahta Hai - Aamir Khan, Saif Ali Khan and Akshaye Khanna look fabulous and have wonderful moments in what is essentially a coming-of-age movie about three friends navigating through the world. Lovely shots of Goa. Fun music. There is some strange dancing,(we call this one Wiggly Arms) and a soul patch, but otherwise, a very good time.
Amar Akbar Anthony - If you only ever see one Amitabh Bachchan movie you are an idiot and need to re-evaluate your life's priorities. This is movie about three brothers who get separated when they are very very young, and taken in by three different foster fathers, one Catholic, one Hindu and one Muslim. It is delightful and enjoyable and if you can watch it with someone who can get through translating the opening song (which didn't have subtitles) you will thank me forever.
The Holiday - This movie is cute. It could have been better. It should have been better. Kate Winslet and Jack Black? That really could have worked more and better and funnier. I totally watched the making of featurette.
Serenity - um. I think I heard somewhere that there's a Commentary: The Musical because of people like Joss Whedon who are all brilliant and gen x and who read stuff. If you haven't seen it: Firefly and Serenity are brilliant. I love this movie so much it is not a topic for public discussion.
Rang de Basanti - watch this movie. invite me over. i will watch it with you. just have faith.
Jab We Met - This falls under the label OMG This is the Cutest Movie Ever! There are about 13 titles on the list right now. Boy is angsty and silent. Girl is chatty and bubbly. They meet on a train. Things go from there. It is not completely predictable. It is completely lovely and sweet.
You know who you are - hope this gives you a good start!
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
It's more of a beginning than declarative...
The day is fine and warm and filled with wind. My walk downtown was intended to serve another purpose, but this is good, too. Universities are a joy when there is no one around to fill in the space between the steps and the air they breathe. It is a weakness, a daydream, a way of walking through the world, that all of these buildings like schools and capitols and libraries and fairgrounds, they have a very real life of their own, and that life is what I breathe in their halls when there is no one else about to do it for me.
Lately the world has seemed filled with talk. Talk of this, talk of that, lots of words and very little of it silent or considered. I know that the First Amendment guarantees US citizens the right to freedom of speech, but what about the freedom to listen, the freedom to consider audience, the freedom to speak well, the freedom to demand speech that is worth the listening.
I believe that freedom is a right is a privilege is a responsibility, and must not be left stagnant, without exploration or understanding. It is not enough to exercise the right to speak. It is not correct to speak simply because it is a freedom. It is up the speaker to accept responsibility for the choice of words others may hear. I am firmly opposed to inflammatory speech and speeches. I believe their purpose is destructive and divisive. Any audience whose ability to debate and argue is distracted by propaganda is an audience that has become a puppet.
It was difficult to acknowledge that in this world it is the right of citizenship that confers the rights of humanity. Whatever rights are bestowed, given or simply acknowledged by the country or nation or entity are the only rights any of us have. Whether I agree with this sentiment or not (and I don't) does not change what seems to be a fundamental state of being in this world. It is unnatural to be without country or place. It is not human, not valid. Though, how human anyone is or is not depends entirely on the accident of birth, unless a person chooses to change allegiance and become someone different. Born into one family or another on one continent or another, if rich, it is by blessing, if poor, it is because the choice was not made to accept the blessing.
We are an odd grouping of fundaments, we children of the Puritans.
And we have been given this right of voice, or at least of speech. Our Constitution makes room for arguments and debates, and we spend much time hearing about how there is no time for either, decisions must be made. I have wondered, more than a few times, if there were provisions made for rules of argument and debate, if perhaps we would be less inclined to such immediate action. I expect much more of the past than I have the right to. Argument has been reduced to volume - in loudness and number of words, no matter how relevant or coherent, the voice that speaks the most often with the most confidence is minded, given audience and time. There seems little point in the face of such opposition to speak up at all, knowing the voice will be little more than a squeak.
And yet. When those quieter, less familiar, more deliberate, voices are ignored, neglected or assumed to be an agreement, social injustice thrives. How to reach them, how to assure them they will be heard, how to deflect the necessary anger into something productive instead of something that perpetuates the status quo of nothing ever changes. How do we learn to listen?
I hear people everyday. I hear their stories, their jokes, their puns and barely concealed bitternesses. We all do, every time we greet someone or pass them in the hall or on the floor. Alone the comments are tweets & status updates, together over time, they become a narrative, a series of events and changes and personalities and as those statements collect, something begins to take shape, room appears for questioning, observing, patterns, history.
Without that history, my own voice feels anchorless, blown about with less purpose than an autumn leaf. With it, there is joy in the speaking, because I know what it means that I can.
These bits are beginnings. This conversation will go on. I will continue to ponder, to read, to listen, to speak.
Be well.
Be safe.
Be joyful.
Lately the world has seemed filled with talk. Talk of this, talk of that, lots of words and very little of it silent or considered. I know that the First Amendment guarantees US citizens the right to freedom of speech, but what about the freedom to listen, the freedom to consider audience, the freedom to speak well, the freedom to demand speech that is worth the listening.
I believe that freedom is a right is a privilege is a responsibility, and must not be left stagnant, without exploration or understanding. It is not enough to exercise the right to speak. It is not correct to speak simply because it is a freedom. It is up the speaker to accept responsibility for the choice of words others may hear. I am firmly opposed to inflammatory speech and speeches. I believe their purpose is destructive and divisive. Any audience whose ability to debate and argue is distracted by propaganda is an audience that has become a puppet.
It was difficult to acknowledge that in this world it is the right of citizenship that confers the rights of humanity. Whatever rights are bestowed, given or simply acknowledged by the country or nation or entity are the only rights any of us have. Whether I agree with this sentiment or not (and I don't) does not change what seems to be a fundamental state of being in this world. It is unnatural to be without country or place. It is not human, not valid. Though, how human anyone is or is not depends entirely on the accident of birth, unless a person chooses to change allegiance and become someone different. Born into one family or another on one continent or another, if rich, it is by blessing, if poor, it is because the choice was not made to accept the blessing.
We are an odd grouping of fundaments, we children of the Puritans.
And we have been given this right of voice, or at least of speech. Our Constitution makes room for arguments and debates, and we spend much time hearing about how there is no time for either, decisions must be made. I have wondered, more than a few times, if there were provisions made for rules of argument and debate, if perhaps we would be less inclined to such immediate action. I expect much more of the past than I have the right to. Argument has been reduced to volume - in loudness and number of words, no matter how relevant or coherent, the voice that speaks the most often with the most confidence is minded, given audience and time. There seems little point in the face of such opposition to speak up at all, knowing the voice will be little more than a squeak.
And yet. When those quieter, less familiar, more deliberate, voices are ignored, neglected or assumed to be an agreement, social injustice thrives. How to reach them, how to assure them they will be heard, how to deflect the necessary anger into something productive instead of something that perpetuates the status quo of nothing ever changes. How do we learn to listen?
I hear people everyday. I hear their stories, their jokes, their puns and barely concealed bitternesses. We all do, every time we greet someone or pass them in the hall or on the floor. Alone the comments are tweets & status updates, together over time, they become a narrative, a series of events and changes and personalities and as those statements collect, something begins to take shape, room appears for questioning, observing, patterns, history.
Without that history, my own voice feels anchorless, blown about with less purpose than an autumn leaf. With it, there is joy in the speaking, because I know what it means that I can.
These bits are beginnings. This conversation will go on. I will continue to ponder, to read, to listen, to speak.
Be well.
Be safe.
Be joyful.
Sunday, 5 April 2009
5 April 2009 noon
(still watching Simon Schama's Power of Art)(I seriously love it)
JWM Turner had a way with light. Apparently he also had a way with line, though because his lines are fluid and liquid in places and invisible in others, it is not often mentioned. I mention it now. I am still too struck by the works to talk much about them, also my ignorance shows itself to no great harm if I choose to acknowledge it and put a name to it that tells it where to go to change its face.
I am thinking of the people in Turner’s paintings. Of the vast range of the sky and the sea and the atmosphere and ho little of the space is filled with the image of humanity and its suffering or turmoil or death. Of the sense that there is much suffered in the bottom third of the painting that cannot be erased by the ephemeral beauty of the rest of it. I do not pretend to have any knowledge or understanding of the reasons for these compositional choices, but I can tell you very exactly what I feel and think of them. I feel very small and pointless and entirely connected to something that will do as it pleases whether I care or approve or no. It is not a fatalistic naturalism, but a pragmatic view of nature – it does not matter whether I exist or not, nature will.
The wind is blowing with a vengeance borne of neglect outside. It brings snow to this warming earth and sends so many of us indoors, where we will be safe and warm and can complain at our leisure about how unfair is the spring and why won’t it just be warm, forgetting just how warm is the summer, how still and wet the August days in the city when the wind has not abandoned us, but brings only strength and destruction and dust, nothing like relief. Nothing like respite. We do spend time looking for the beauty that will be in front of us eventually, say in Eden. I hope the people who seek Eden will find it, and tell their families and their friends and then get on a bunch of boats and planes and cars and trains and move past the gates and enter the garden and leave the rest of this life to me and my own, so that we can struggle as we will, learn and understand and adapt as we will, eat as we will and never again worry that we are surrounded by so much “life sucks” that we forget our manners and start acting inappropriately.
Yesterday the wind was not so full of cold and I walked with a book in my arms and my hair in a whirlwind past the old place and saw the magnolia buds. The flowers this year have been a grand shock. I am not ready for them, I have become accustomed to the gentle browns and grays and how bright the blue of the sky, the colors on the ground are startling and make me catch my breath, but I know that if I do not see, I will miss what is loveliest in this town – watching it change and remain the same no matter the season or day. This storm that sits over the Midlands and the Plains seems to have some grand purpose, some scheme in mind that requires our absence from its air for a time. We have grown soft in the days past of sunshine and breeze and left-at-home coats. The winter does not toughen us up anymore, rather it makes us fluid, longing creatures filled with hope, easily wounded.
There are leaf buds on a tree that I walk by, though I could not tell you where it grows. The buds have not changed size in a week. I tend to take my cue from them, waiting until the sun finally has its way as it does every year, and only then crawling out to show colors held away so long they are surprised at their own names. This is the wind, the time that kicks up the debris of little urban messes and makes the dust into something solid, with faces and arms and biting tendrils, the edges of leaves never sharper against such tender skin as legs and cheeks and eyeballs.
We command each other to make apologies for this weather as we do for all things unexpected. It is not our right to hold humanity accountable for nature, and yet we do. We forget that the greatest stories happen in a land, on a land, under a sky, on a sea, within a context that we seem to believe we can ignore because it has been explained as so many atoms, particles, light bits and patterns made up of names with definitions not reliant on mystery any longer! We have been freed of superstition! Only to fall victim to narrow minded self-assurance? So we are told. So we tell ourselves. Repeatedly.
I wonder. I wonder how many clichés I can come up with to explain my point of view, to explain how limited is everyone else’s, to justify my constant struggle with absolute hermitude, knowing I cannot be away from an espresso machine for long enough to unpack into my little cave. I wonder what is happening in the world that exists beyond and beneath what we are told about the world. I wonder how much of it does not need the reminder, would not care to share even the bottom third of the canvas, knows that Eden is where the rest of the world lives, and that’s more room for the rest of us.
JWM Turner had a way with light. Apparently he also had a way with line, though because his lines are fluid and liquid in places and invisible in others, it is not often mentioned. I mention it now. I am still too struck by the works to talk much about them, also my ignorance shows itself to no great harm if I choose to acknowledge it and put a name to it that tells it where to go to change its face.
I am thinking of the people in Turner’s paintings. Of the vast range of the sky and the sea and the atmosphere and ho little of the space is filled with the image of humanity and its suffering or turmoil or death. Of the sense that there is much suffered in the bottom third of the painting that cannot be erased by the ephemeral beauty of the rest of it. I do not pretend to have any knowledge or understanding of the reasons for these compositional choices, but I can tell you very exactly what I feel and think of them. I feel very small and pointless and entirely connected to something that will do as it pleases whether I care or approve or no. It is not a fatalistic naturalism, but a pragmatic view of nature – it does not matter whether I exist or not, nature will.
The wind is blowing with a vengeance borne of neglect outside. It brings snow to this warming earth and sends so many of us indoors, where we will be safe and warm and can complain at our leisure about how unfair is the spring and why won’t it just be warm, forgetting just how warm is the summer, how still and wet the August days in the city when the wind has not abandoned us, but brings only strength and destruction and dust, nothing like relief. Nothing like respite. We do spend time looking for the beauty that will be in front of us eventually, say in Eden. I hope the people who seek Eden will find it, and tell their families and their friends and then get on a bunch of boats and planes and cars and trains and move past the gates and enter the garden and leave the rest of this life to me and my own, so that we can struggle as we will, learn and understand and adapt as we will, eat as we will and never again worry that we are surrounded by so much “life sucks” that we forget our manners and start acting inappropriately.
Yesterday the wind was not so full of cold and I walked with a book in my arms and my hair in a whirlwind past the old place and saw the magnolia buds. The flowers this year have been a grand shock. I am not ready for them, I have become accustomed to the gentle browns and grays and how bright the blue of the sky, the colors on the ground are startling and make me catch my breath, but I know that if I do not see, I will miss what is loveliest in this town – watching it change and remain the same no matter the season or day. This storm that sits over the Midlands and the Plains seems to have some grand purpose, some scheme in mind that requires our absence from its air for a time. We have grown soft in the days past of sunshine and breeze and left-at-home coats. The winter does not toughen us up anymore, rather it makes us fluid, longing creatures filled with hope, easily wounded.
There are leaf buds on a tree that I walk by, though I could not tell you where it grows. The buds have not changed size in a week. I tend to take my cue from them, waiting until the sun finally has its way as it does every year, and only then crawling out to show colors held away so long they are surprised at their own names. This is the wind, the time that kicks up the debris of little urban messes and makes the dust into something solid, with faces and arms and biting tendrils, the edges of leaves never sharper against such tender skin as legs and cheeks and eyeballs.
We command each other to make apologies for this weather as we do for all things unexpected. It is not our right to hold humanity accountable for nature, and yet we do. We forget that the greatest stories happen in a land, on a land, under a sky, on a sea, within a context that we seem to believe we can ignore because it has been explained as so many atoms, particles, light bits and patterns made up of names with definitions not reliant on mystery any longer! We have been freed of superstition! Only to fall victim to narrow minded self-assurance? So we are told. So we tell ourselves. Repeatedly.
I wonder. I wonder how many clichés I can come up with to explain my point of view, to explain how limited is everyone else’s, to justify my constant struggle with absolute hermitude, knowing I cannot be away from an espresso machine for long enough to unpack into my little cave. I wonder what is happening in the world that exists beyond and beneath what we are told about the world. I wonder how much of it does not need the reminder, would not care to share even the bottom third of the canvas, knows that Eden is where the rest of the world lives, and that’s more room for the rest of us.
Friday, 3 April 2009
Perhaps less than solid
It is the third day of the month of national poetry writing, the 30 days of the year when the prolific nature of every poet is put to the test and heaven only knows what strung out bloodiness results. I would put myself to this test, spreading my lungs out over my ribs, no sound escaping with air, but with letters and rhythms struggling in the places between walking and thinking and typing and writing and keyboards. I would. I cannot. My imaginings are occupied on roads without names finding songs that tell stories about people who mean little to my responsibilities. They build cities and stories about cities and wonder at lives lived encrusted in the local magics. I guess that ought to be 'magicks.'
I have plundered my daydreams and found a jewel, something private and impossible to make fiction and real for these creatures rolling around in the muck of my still-forming stories. I do them disservice. They live and breathe and have names, and I have yet to find them places. There is little poetry solidifying itself in my life. All of the language is blood.
I have begun watching Simon Schama's The Power of Art. I had seen the Caravaggio episode, a friend of mine recorded it. I remember being thunderstruck at how meaningful the thing was when I saw it - how appropriate the timing of such overwhelming talent and ability and faith and that particular inability to see the morass of humanity as anything but sublime and fertile.
Now I am again struck at the peculiarly urban nature of certain art - the squalor and pageantry that walk the streets together, claiming the same spaces, the same roads and histories, though seen and told from perspectives so skewed as to be legitimately called alien. There is some magic, some mystery in the creation and maintenance of a city, a proper city, I mean, not just a large collection of people in tall residences. I mean a city, a living, breathing organism with a personality, creation story, art, food, smell, bureaucracy, music, trade, death, cancers and buds and patterns of traffic and chaos moving through every world created within its geography. There can be no city without a sense of expression. Reliance on trade as the defining characteristic of any urban area as a city reduces the human element to mechanization, something which is far too commonplace in this world, and has been throughout much of the history the world has seen fit to throw up in front of my eyes.
Why else would marble become flesh? Why bring Jesus to earth and give pilgrims dirty feet? Why find satisfaction showing mortal beings that no wealth, pomp or decree can prevent the beauty of Death its due? The city is a place that can live on the illusion of immortality, after all, the buildings will outlive us, perhaps we can outlive ourselves, skip the tradition of social construct, we'll just not acknowledge the right of Death. Rural life does not allow such illusions, a claim I do not make in the spirit of romance or idealism. Nature is a pragmatic lady, and Death is her triumph.
But we will insist that we see what we wish, will we not? We will see Nature as Fury, as Benevolent, as a Bitch. We will see the city as proof against Death, as the City of God(s), as the ultimate expression of our human capabilities.
I like to think of cities as the ultimate version of Voltron, made of the collected abilities and presences of every inhabitant, ready to establish that I Am Here. Problem with that is the rest of that statement: Best Not Fuck With Me. Bit defensive, bit challenging, bit headed towards disaster, that.
These thoughts are still shadowy, but I could not pretend that they were not there, could not go forward without finding them some sort of solid ground whereon to find their feet. It is a complicated thing, this world that builds itself from the patterns and details of the planet that is my home. I am in no hurry to define it for itself, the job is already done.
I have plundered my daydreams and found a jewel, something private and impossible to make fiction and real for these creatures rolling around in the muck of my still-forming stories. I do them disservice. They live and breathe and have names, and I have yet to find them places. There is little poetry solidifying itself in my life. All of the language is blood.
I have begun watching Simon Schama's The Power of Art. I had seen the Caravaggio episode, a friend of mine recorded it. I remember being thunderstruck at how meaningful the thing was when I saw it - how appropriate the timing of such overwhelming talent and ability and faith and that particular inability to see the morass of humanity as anything but sublime and fertile.
Now I am again struck at the peculiarly urban nature of certain art - the squalor and pageantry that walk the streets together, claiming the same spaces, the same roads and histories, though seen and told from perspectives so skewed as to be legitimately called alien. There is some magic, some mystery in the creation and maintenance of a city, a proper city, I mean, not just a large collection of people in tall residences. I mean a city, a living, breathing organism with a personality, creation story, art, food, smell, bureaucracy, music, trade, death, cancers and buds and patterns of traffic and chaos moving through every world created within its geography. There can be no city without a sense of expression. Reliance on trade as the defining characteristic of any urban area as a city reduces the human element to mechanization, something which is far too commonplace in this world, and has been throughout much of the history the world has seen fit to throw up in front of my eyes.
Why else would marble become flesh? Why bring Jesus to earth and give pilgrims dirty feet? Why find satisfaction showing mortal beings that no wealth, pomp or decree can prevent the beauty of Death its due? The city is a place that can live on the illusion of immortality, after all, the buildings will outlive us, perhaps we can outlive ourselves, skip the tradition of social construct, we'll just not acknowledge the right of Death. Rural life does not allow such illusions, a claim I do not make in the spirit of romance or idealism. Nature is a pragmatic lady, and Death is her triumph.
But we will insist that we see what we wish, will we not? We will see Nature as Fury, as Benevolent, as a Bitch. We will see the city as proof against Death, as the City of God(s), as the ultimate expression of our human capabilities.
I like to think of cities as the ultimate version of Voltron, made of the collected abilities and presences of every inhabitant, ready to establish that I Am Here. Problem with that is the rest of that statement: Best Not Fuck With Me. Bit defensive, bit challenging, bit headed towards disaster, that.
These thoughts are still shadowy, but I could not pretend that they were not there, could not go forward without finding them some sort of solid ground whereon to find their feet. It is a complicated thing, this world that builds itself from the patterns and details of the planet that is my home. I am in no hurry to define it for itself, the job is already done.
Sunday, 1 March 2009
Lyrics in Translation
Swades song lyrics in translation – The King James version – not all the bits, but most of them from two of the songs.
Because they cracked me up.
I have to say here that I loved Swades and think it a wonderful movie that must be seen again and again and the music is a delight. It's the subtitles and the lyrics in translation that pose a bit of a problem cuz I find them distractingly funny. Distractingly.
Saanwariya
I am infatuated with thee
Thou hast endeared my heart
My heart’s bewildered
My body with fire kindled
It’s monsoon of my dreams
The courtyard of my eyes streams
The pitcher of my heart is overflowing
O dear who hast drawn so near!
O dear who hast endeared my heart!
How canst I recount
What hath been thy bequest pray how?
Somewhere art buds of a throbbing heart
Somewhere the dream-lanes
Mirth that dwells in the heart,
How shallst I articulate?
Thou swayest me so
That oft times I am embarrassed
It seems I have lost my path
Ever since I have seen the haven of love
Now that thou hast met me
This world’s transformed
Methinks the flowers have begun to beset my path
And I fancy too that the earth’s renewed
The sky too freshly spun in our love
Wanton breeze singeth some melody
River too narrates some tale
All’s changed, my love, since my eyes courted thine
I have lost presence of mind
Gone is my treasured selfhood.
Dekho Na
See! Just see!
It’s you and me, and long solitude!
See! Just see!
How delicate are these shadows!
Listen in; heed the heartbeats
Listen in; heed the song of silence
Listen in; heed what the night hath to say
Night’s come; with desires nameless and many
She narrateth a hundred woes;
I listen to her epiphany
Night unwindeth, unabashed stripeth her cloak
Pearls, scattered as it were; I pick
You have chanted some spell in words
Lamps are alit in my eyes
You have chanted some spell in words
The darkness of my nights hath poured out
Lonely went the day and nights sans you,
Overcast with desolation
And now it seemeth the nights,
Kissed by the day and perfumed
For you art my companion
I was incomplete sans you,
More compete now none couldst be
In yours, my world I discovered,
Yet I am all lost
Both of us have now learned, art of living well earned
Like Midas touch, our living how well hath altered
Both of us have now learned,
Beauty of life well earned
O joys, we owneth a score, enough and more…
Because they cracked me up.
I have to say here that I loved Swades and think it a wonderful movie that must be seen again and again and the music is a delight. It's the subtitles and the lyrics in translation that pose a bit of a problem cuz I find them distractingly funny. Distractingly.
Saanwariya
I am infatuated with thee
Thou hast endeared my heart
My heart’s bewildered
My body with fire kindled
It’s monsoon of my dreams
The courtyard of my eyes streams
The pitcher of my heart is overflowing
O dear who hast drawn so near!
O dear who hast endeared my heart!
How canst I recount
What hath been thy bequest pray how?
Somewhere art buds of a throbbing heart
Somewhere the dream-lanes
Mirth that dwells in the heart,
How shallst I articulate?
Thou swayest me so
That oft times I am embarrassed
It seems I have lost my path
Ever since I have seen the haven of love
Now that thou hast met me
This world’s transformed
Methinks the flowers have begun to beset my path
And I fancy too that the earth’s renewed
The sky too freshly spun in our love
Wanton breeze singeth some melody
River too narrates some tale
All’s changed, my love, since my eyes courted thine
I have lost presence of mind
Gone is my treasured selfhood.
Dekho Na
See! Just see!
It’s you and me, and long solitude!
See! Just see!
How delicate are these shadows!
Listen in; heed the heartbeats
Listen in; heed the song of silence
Listen in; heed what the night hath to say
Night’s come; with desires nameless and many
She narrateth a hundred woes;
I listen to her epiphany
Night unwindeth, unabashed stripeth her cloak
Pearls, scattered as it were; I pick
You have chanted some spell in words
Lamps are alit in my eyes
You have chanted some spell in words
The darkness of my nights hath poured out
Lonely went the day and nights sans you,
Overcast with desolation
And now it seemeth the nights,
Kissed by the day and perfumed
For you art my companion
I was incomplete sans you,
More compete now none couldst be
In yours, my world I discovered,
Yet I am all lost
Both of us have now learned, art of living well earned
Like Midas touch, our living how well hath altered
Both of us have now learned,
Beauty of life well earned
O joys, we owneth a score, enough and more…
Monday, 23 February 2009
Bits from Sunday pm
It is not so easy to recapture the silence and movement of yesterday in the chatter and chairs of this afternoon, but I will do my best.
The television is not where it will be, though it is also not where it was one step closer to ready for the summer's heat escaping from the sunny funk in the kitchen that was the whole reason to move the television in the first place.
Every goal must be achieved through a series of steps as I reconnect with my home after it or I have been ill, usually both together and similarly. The funk must be identified and eliminated, it does violence to my healing senses from its invisible perch lately placed somewhere near the kitchen sink. It could be from the dishes.
The dishes get done last.
In order to move the cookbooks and the cat food and the table, the television, DVD and VCR must take space from the radio, writing desk, telephone and lavender which have been dislocated to the chairs for the duration as Pledge wipes make their way and the broom sweeps up litter and I mop the rugs of cat hair, glad to be free of the vacuum that sits in the almost way and has and will until I get around to letting go. Sets of altar decorations (for every horizontal surface is an altar) move together and are cleaned together and rearranged as I make plans to do this again in two months, only hoping that my apartment tetris skills allow me the mental space to work again, tho I have the had space for days and have not used it but for sleeping. The refrigerator top, the table top, the boards and blocks and stove-top and burners and door handles the hyphens between movement.
And all of this accompanied by dancing and a grace the felines do not acknowledge to my face. It is the grace of knowing where everything is or will be, how to get there and how to make things happen. The invisible part of housework and homemaking and living in rooms defined so specifically. This is my little cave and I the bear, groggy and dreaming and unwilling to tolerate tripping over shit in my way and tired of litter under my feet and in the cats' fur and sensing the absence of friends and comfortable surroundings.
The sunlight in rays inaccessible to small cats leaves the kitchen warm, spreads the smell of something. The discomfort is no longer bearable.
I have not been well enough to dance through the mess, cleaning. Today is different, legs and back and arms and focus working, though slowly, and the sink is clean, the stove white, the trash out and in the late evening I find quiet in the chair too large for the living room, and my home settles.
The funk is still present.
The dance continues.
The television is not where it will be, though it is also not where it was one step closer to ready for the summer's heat escaping from the sunny funk in the kitchen that was the whole reason to move the television in the first place.
Every goal must be achieved through a series of steps as I reconnect with my home after it or I have been ill, usually both together and similarly. The funk must be identified and eliminated, it does violence to my healing senses from its invisible perch lately placed somewhere near the kitchen sink. It could be from the dishes.
The dishes get done last.
In order to move the cookbooks and the cat food and the table, the television, DVD and VCR must take space from the radio, writing desk, telephone and lavender which have been dislocated to the chairs for the duration as Pledge wipes make their way and the broom sweeps up litter and I mop the rugs of cat hair, glad to be free of the vacuum that sits in the almost way and has and will until I get around to letting go. Sets of altar decorations (for every horizontal surface is an altar) move together and are cleaned together and rearranged as I make plans to do this again in two months, only hoping that my apartment tetris skills allow me the mental space to work again, tho I have the had space for days and have not used it but for sleeping. The refrigerator top, the table top, the boards and blocks and stove-top and burners and door handles the hyphens between movement.
And all of this accompanied by dancing and a grace the felines do not acknowledge to my face. It is the grace of knowing where everything is or will be, how to get there and how to make things happen. The invisible part of housework and homemaking and living in rooms defined so specifically. This is my little cave and I the bear, groggy and dreaming and unwilling to tolerate tripping over shit in my way and tired of litter under my feet and in the cats' fur and sensing the absence of friends and comfortable surroundings.
The sunlight in rays inaccessible to small cats leaves the kitchen warm, spreads the smell of something. The discomfort is no longer bearable.
I have not been well enough to dance through the mess, cleaning. Today is different, legs and back and arms and focus working, though slowly, and the sink is clean, the stove white, the trash out and in the late evening I find quiet in the chair too large for the living room, and my home settles.
The funk is still present.
The dance continues.
Sunday, 4 January 2009
I'm not so sure about all of this, but...
I made resolutions last year and didn't do any one of them. Not serious things like working out or anything, important things like going to visit my best friend in California, things that didn't happen.
I've decided to grow my hair out again. World changing? Not hardly. Just a personal choice.
Also, I've been thinking of what to do for a blog this year, as I'd like to keep one, perhaps weekly instead of daily, but we'll see. There is a reading project that is on-going, a collection and analysis project that is on-going and a fiction piece that is multimedia and in something like limbo. Adding another project might seem a bit ludicrous, particularly given my other commitments, but I think I've got a good idea for article analysis from periodicals that I see every day and would read, and sometimes do, if only I took the time to do it. Why take the time if there is no reason? Perhaps i can give myself a reason.
We shall see.
Bean soup and Blessed mornings to all!
Happy New Year.
I've decided to grow my hair out again. World changing? Not hardly. Just a personal choice.
Also, I've been thinking of what to do for a blog this year, as I'd like to keep one, perhaps weekly instead of daily, but we'll see. There is a reading project that is on-going, a collection and analysis project that is on-going and a fiction piece that is multimedia and in something like limbo. Adding another project might seem a bit ludicrous, particularly given my other commitments, but I think I've got a good idea for article analysis from periodicals that I see every day and would read, and sometimes do, if only I took the time to do it. Why take the time if there is no reason? Perhaps i can give myself a reason.
We shall see.
Bean soup and Blessed mornings to all!
Happy New Year.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Letter to my nation
Last night I cared. I cried a bit when CNN announced that Sen. Obama had won the election. I cried more when I saw Rev. Jesse Jackson crying. I have unending respect for the Rev. Jackson, and I grew up in a city where his voice rose above so many others and what he said made listening worthwhile.
It felt incredibly good to be a part of this country last night.
This morning brought with it a few sour notes that I cannot pretend away. Proposition 8 passed in California. Initiative 424 passed in Nebraska. A proposition to prevent unmarried couples from adopting passed. Maine split their electoral votes. Nebraska did not. Although it was heartening to see that Saline county went blue along with Lancaster and Douglas counties. It was good to see and hear how many people went to the polls, regardless of their affiliations.
My one cultural issue with the Obama/Biden campaign (oh how fun it will be to teach our spellcheckers to get rid of the nasty red lines there) had nothing to do with the candidates, and in fact, is an attitude that was not preached by that campaign. It is the sense that the President will be responsible for fixing everything. It is the willingness to alleviate our own responsibilities by burdening our newly elected President. It is the disillusionment of the last decades come to fruition in the unkindest of ways: okay, we voted you in, now change everything and change it in the way we want it changed. Yes, we can change things, we can create an environment in which change is more readily acceptable, though it comes with pains, as it must. In order to live up to that promise we cannot sit back and become complacent and allow ourselves to remain ignorant and aloof and apathetic. No longer do we have the excuse that dissenting voices are not heard. We have the example of those who attempted "revolution" only to find heartache, violence, imprisonment and the pointlessness of wasted passion.
Much of the last administration has left a stain on the collected soul and character of our nation. Last night's election showed that we are beginning to understand what we need to do in order to heal these newest wounds. We still have some very old wounds to heal as well. Rifts that have never been addressed. Horrors unacknowledged.
I do not envy President-Elect Obama his job. It is one that I have never wanted for myself. I believe that the best leadership is provided by those who see a leader as the person with the best organizational and management skills. Leaders who see leadership as giving service through strong communication skills and good hiring practices are people who understand that the ultimate aim of this country is to perpetuate itself in a sustainable and effective way, not to provide leaders with power, deification and a rowdy, uneducated public easily swayed and easily mollified.
We have, for far too long, allowed ourselves not to be lead but to be corralled. We maintain our silence at our peril. We believe what we are told about ourselves to our shame.
There are conversations that need to be held, hosted, encouraged and participated in: What is a conservative thinker, what is a liberal thinker, are they different from republican thinkers and democratic thinkers and what are those as well? What is ethical government, is it desirable, how do we discuss ethics in government, real or imagined? What is the purpose of education and how do/don't schools live up to that? Are we engaged in denying human rights to people? How do we approach that?
I believe that even engaging in these conversations allows for greater thought and purpose to action. Actively making decisions in life, as far as we can, is part of what makes a life well-lived.
It felt incredibly good to be a part of this country last night.
This morning brought with it a few sour notes that I cannot pretend away. Proposition 8 passed in California. Initiative 424 passed in Nebraska. A proposition to prevent unmarried couples from adopting passed. Maine split their electoral votes. Nebraska did not. Although it was heartening to see that Saline county went blue along with Lancaster and Douglas counties. It was good to see and hear how many people went to the polls, regardless of their affiliations.
My one cultural issue with the Obama/Biden campaign (oh how fun it will be to teach our spellcheckers to get rid of the nasty red lines there) had nothing to do with the candidates, and in fact, is an attitude that was not preached by that campaign. It is the sense that the President will be responsible for fixing everything. It is the willingness to alleviate our own responsibilities by burdening our newly elected President. It is the disillusionment of the last decades come to fruition in the unkindest of ways: okay, we voted you in, now change everything and change it in the way we want it changed. Yes, we can change things, we can create an environment in which change is more readily acceptable, though it comes with pains, as it must. In order to live up to that promise we cannot sit back and become complacent and allow ourselves to remain ignorant and aloof and apathetic. No longer do we have the excuse that dissenting voices are not heard. We have the example of those who attempted "revolution" only to find heartache, violence, imprisonment and the pointlessness of wasted passion.
Much of the last administration has left a stain on the collected soul and character of our nation. Last night's election showed that we are beginning to understand what we need to do in order to heal these newest wounds. We still have some very old wounds to heal as well. Rifts that have never been addressed. Horrors unacknowledged.
I do not envy President-Elect Obama his job. It is one that I have never wanted for myself. I believe that the best leadership is provided by those who see a leader as the person with the best organizational and management skills. Leaders who see leadership as giving service through strong communication skills and good hiring practices are people who understand that the ultimate aim of this country is to perpetuate itself in a sustainable and effective way, not to provide leaders with power, deification and a rowdy, uneducated public easily swayed and easily mollified.
We have, for far too long, allowed ourselves not to be lead but to be corralled. We maintain our silence at our peril. We believe what we are told about ourselves to our shame.
There are conversations that need to be held, hosted, encouraged and participated in: What is a conservative thinker, what is a liberal thinker, are they different from republican thinkers and democratic thinkers and what are those as well? What is ethical government, is it desirable, how do we discuss ethics in government, real or imagined? What is the purpose of education and how do/don't schools live up to that? Are we engaged in denying human rights to people? How do we approach that?
I believe that even engaging in these conversations allows for greater thought and purpose to action. Actively making decisions in life, as far as we can, is part of what makes a life well-lived.
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