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.
Friday, 2 April 2010
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.
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