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Wednesday, January 18th, 2006
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dear _:
these days pass like waves pelted into the sand. some moments pass as soon as they arrive, and others dwell in an eternal waiting room. i cannot wait but i cannot go.
i read an article on orson welles over lunch with dad and a horchata, that moment of pure punctum in citizen kane when a snowglobe tumbles down the stairs. it is a blizzard of a mess, "symbolising the dream of a lost childhood." my father mentions a photography club in the background, two women at the next booth laugh.
the air smells like rain, and against my better judgement, my father rides his motorcycle to work. k recently told him that he looks tiny on his bike, and now he's developed quite the complex. i supervise his drive home from work; he looks like a frog on his harley.
i grind hazelnut coffee beans until they are fine grains, run the drip coffee, bag the rest. i've decided lately that i need an addiction, and this might very well be it. after reading one too many books on addiction and rehab, i am almost drawn to the idea of needing and wanting something.
i wash dishes as the sky turns black outside. we have this system now that our housekeeper is on vacation for three weeks. it consists of them eating and me keeping house. i don't mind really, i'm obsessed with being clean. i love laundry fresh out of the dryer. i just bury my head and hug the entire basket of stupid white socks and egyptian cotton bedsheets. i bring piper inside the house most of the time now, we both can get lonely with too much time alone. i put on music, yesterday was edith piaf, today was john coltrane.
coltrane is perfect for everything, namely rainy days. someone once told me that the perfect soundtrack to my college years would be coltrane's a love supreme.
i'm reading murakami's norwegian wood. it's my new favorite book and murakami is my new favorite author. his protagonist is a college student in tokyo grappling with loneliness and isolation. when my mother read the back of my book, she sighed. it is such a typical my-kind-of-book book.
we have sushi and udon for dinner, out because mom runs out of time to cook. these days she is so busy taking care of her mother, and i feel like i have replaced her. i change the bedsheets, make k snacks after school, feed the dog, cook portions of the dinner. as she to her mother, me to her.
my favorite part of the day are the fruit bowls. i peel fruits for everyone after dinner. tonight: gala apples, peaches, cherries, and grapes. an apple for the dog.
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I used to think something might be wrong with my heart, and that one day it might stop altogether, maybe while I slept. I guess it is only a symptom of longing.
April ended and May came along, but May was even worse than April. In the deepening spring of May, I had no choice but to recognize the trembling of my heart. It usually happened as the sun was going down. In the pale evening gloom, when the soft fragrance of the magnolias hung in the air, my heart would swell without warning, and tremble, and lurch with a stab of pain. I would try clamping my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, and wait for it to pass. And it would pass -- but slowly, taking its own time, and leaving a dull ache behind.
It's raining today. Rainy Sundays make it hard for me. When it rains, I cant do laundry, which means I cant do ironing. I can't go walking, and I can't lie down on the roof. About all I can do is put the record player on auto repeat and listen to Kind of Blue over and over while I watch the rain falling in the quadrangle.
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Sunday, January 15th, 2006
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one hundred years of solitude
written on the body
the kite runner
a million little pieces
norweigian wood
atonement
on the road
the namesake
love in the time of cholera
blink: the power of thinking without thinking
mark strand poetry
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The Young Man came to the Old Man seeking counsel.
I broke something, Old Man.
How badly is it broken?
It's in a million little pieces.
I'm afraid I can't help you.
Why?
There's nothing you can do.
Why?
It can't be fixed.
Why?
It's broken beyond repair. It's in a million little pieces.
I turn and I look back across the Lake. The mist is gone and the ice diminished, the drip of the icicles quick and heavy. The Sun is up and the Sky is blue empty blue light blue clear blue. I would drink the Sky if I could drink it, drink it and elebrate it and let it fill me and become me. I am getting better. Empty and clear and light abd blue. I am getting better.
I'm not happy, but I'm not unhappy.
You'll be happy soon. Just hold on.
We'll see.
Words can't say this. The one word love means too little for what it is. It means everythign and that is still not enough. It doesn't communicate even a fraction of the feelings involved.
Love. The word is not enough for what it is. Love. Love.
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Wednesday, January 11th, 2006
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E-pro, Beck
The good in us is all we know
There's too much left to taste that's bitter
Girl, Beck
My sun-eyed girl
Simple things, Belle and Sebastian
If you want me all you have to do
Is ask a thousand questions
Triplicate and file under
"Simple things you ask to make a young boy sigh"
Young boy sigh
Young boy sigh
Eleanor, Franz Ferdinand
But if you run You can run to the Coney Island rollercoaster
Ride to the highest point and leap across the filthy water
Leap until the Gulf Stream's brought you down
Alameda, Elliott Smith
Nobody broke your heart
you broke your own
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0821's journal