being home is a lot like making a documentary about penguins.
I see the behind-the-scenes tapes of people slogging through the snow. sixty below, they say. hundred mile-per-hour winds, they say. why, the others say. and then at the end it's nothing but big smiles and thumbs up and whatnot. why, the others still say. I think I get it. I don't know if I'd do it (that extreme), but I get it. learning. exploring. pushing the limits. spirit unbounding. that kind of stuff.
actually, that's not like being home at all. but I did just watch a penguin documentary.
being home, on the other hand, is a completely different kind of being. sunnier, for one thing. sharper, too. quieter, I guess. farther away from some things. I'm sunburned and my legs are scratched in several different places. I learned not to ride a mountain bike barefoot (it hurts). I tackled one dog and ran another one down. I made real food, and ate real food (although I can do without the latter. I think I've gone on not much for a while). I did this and that and the other thing and not much at all and a great deal. it was a good vacation, but I was right about not wanting to do it again without much else in sight. I'm looking forward to going back. not driving back, certainly, but going.
stay nimble.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
sitcommie
I have a new series in the works.
it's collegey. sitcommie. hopefully funny.
its working title is "blogosphere."
it breaks the fourth wall.
it should be fun.
very.
it's collegey. sitcommie. hopefully funny.
its working title is "blogosphere."
it breaks the fourth wall.
it should be fun.
very.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
pine wind
power and responsibility. what do I have? can I change someone's life just by being? can I change someone's lie? I wonder, sometimes. when the lifehinge comes, will you know it? will I know it? there are more than one. maybe three rights will make a square. three lefts make a square, a wrong, a right in their own right.
la flama niposa, la ombra dispare, la noce immortale, la voce murmure.
trees outside my windows.
at home, it's a beast of a cottonwood. spring-summer's best for that boy, when it's in full leaf and it sounds like a river rainstorm with every breeze. it's green, too, the real green that's sunlight through twenty feet of leaves. for some reason, for as long as I can remember, a horseshoe's hung on the lowest branch. it's rusty, brown-copper-redgold.
in flag, it's a pine. I suppose it's the "pine view" the complex is named for: if there wasn't one there already, by golly, then they'd make one. I seem to have many memories of its snow-coveredness. it's green, too, but sunlight goes right through needles. it's the green of darkness, the cottonwood at night, or in a real storm.
they're both nice, I guess, both trees. dichotomies at their most elementary (school), deciduous and coniferous. the cottonwood's budding again, and the pine's lost its snow. we'll be going into green comparison season soon.
...but if it comes to which I'd rather listen to, I choose the cottonwood. wind in a pine feels lonely.
la flama niposa, la ombra dispare, la noce immortale, la voce murmure.
trees outside my windows.
at home, it's a beast of a cottonwood. spring-summer's best for that boy, when it's in full leaf and it sounds like a river rainstorm with every breeze. it's green, too, the real green that's sunlight through twenty feet of leaves. for some reason, for as long as I can remember, a horseshoe's hung on the lowest branch. it's rusty, brown-copper-redgold.
in flag, it's a pine. I suppose it's the "pine view" the complex is named for: if there wasn't one there already, by golly, then they'd make one. I seem to have many memories of its snow-coveredness. it's green, too, but sunlight goes right through needles. it's the green of darkness, the cottonwood at night, or in a real storm.
they're both nice, I guess, both trees. dichotomies at their most elementary (school), deciduous and coniferous. the cottonwood's budding again, and the pine's lost its snow. we'll be going into green comparison season soon.
...but if it comes to which I'd rather listen to, I choose the cottonwood. wind in a pine feels lonely.
luck
(I take no credit)
[I]f they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost. This instrument can teach, it can illuminate, yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box.
And if there are any historians about fifty or one hundred years from now,
and there should be preserved the kinescopes of one week
of all three networks, they will there find recorded
in black and white, and in color evidence of decadence, escapism,
and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live.
We are currently wealthy, fat, comfortable, and complacent.
We have a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information.
Our mass media reflect this.
But unless we get up off our fat surpluses
and recognize that television in the main
is being used to distract, delude, amuse, and insulate us,
then television and those who finance it,
those who look at it and those who work at it,
may see a totally different picture
too late.
[I]f they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost. This instrument can teach, it can illuminate, yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
two, party number
nanni had a friend (sixties) up with her mother (nineties!) today. they talked, ate, and played wii. that's more or less what I'm doing. man, I hope I'm as hip when I'm old.
I am receiving far more cell traffic than I normally do. to date, I have answered exactly one phone call thus far. I feel a bit bad. it may be the passive-aggressive thing: I don't like doing the phone thing, so I "forget" it. my unconscious may be more metaspy than I give it credit for.
I quite dislike discussing money, except if (can't say when, yet) large sums are being given to me. or if I were doing the giving, I suppose. either scenario involves what I don't have.
I'm staring at a sombrero on my brother's wall. it's bright green with a gold and white flower-thing. it's sparkly, and next to about eight soccer trophies. my brother is weird opposites incarnate.
sharing a room with him isn't that bad. so far, one of three things has happened every night: he goes to bed early and I late, I go to bed early and he late, or he falls asleep on the couch. he'll make an excellent middle-aged husband, except that he doesn't like beer. strange to think of him being eighteen. strange. *shudder*-strange.
tick. tick. tick. there's a real clock on the wall, blue rimmed, with easy-to-see, little kid numbers. it's annoying, sometimes, in the very late of the night when I'm worrying over what to do next semester, or next week. other peoples' problems calm me. is that so very strange?
why do friends come to me for relationship advice? two strikes: haven't had a good, lasting one, and the ones I write about are fucked-up by default. what more motive can I read in a text message that says "you're a cool, nice girl"? no more than has been given, though I hold that my text-at-gunpoint idea is a good one, if not entirely practical. I would still like someone to tell me, though, not how to have a 'ship, but rather "wha!bam, here's
I thought better of it. I'd rather not have anyone tell me. I'd rather do it for myself. this implies some doing. effort. effort? effort. it also implies speaking to party number two ever again. granny mabel's underknickers, but that may be difficult!
lunch with jenny and sarah on the morrow. I'll need a strong constitution to counter what will no doubt be a meal of unintentional(?) barb-slinging. shiny shiny happy happy.
I am receiving far more cell traffic than I normally do. to date, I have answered exactly one phone call thus far. I feel a bit bad. it may be the passive-aggressive thing: I don't like doing the phone thing, so I "forget" it. my unconscious may be more metaspy than I give it credit for.
I quite dislike discussing money, except if (can't say when, yet) large sums are being given to me. or if I were doing the giving, I suppose. either scenario involves what I don't have.
I'm staring at a sombrero on my brother's wall. it's bright green with a gold and white flower-thing. it's sparkly, and next to about eight soccer trophies. my brother is weird opposites incarnate.
sharing a room with him isn't that bad. so far, one of three things has happened every night: he goes to bed early and I late, I go to bed early and he late, or he falls asleep on the couch. he'll make an excellent middle-aged husband, except that he doesn't like beer. strange to think of him being eighteen. strange. *shudder*-strange.
tick. tick. tick. there's a real clock on the wall, blue rimmed, with easy-to-see, little kid numbers. it's annoying, sometimes, in the very late of the night when I'm worrying over what to do next semester, or next week. other peoples' problems calm me. is that so very strange?
why do friends come to me for relationship advice? two strikes: haven't had a good, lasting one, and the ones I write about are fucked-up by default. what more motive can I read in a text message that says "you're a cool, nice girl"? no more than has been given, though I hold that my text-at-gunpoint idea is a good one, if not entirely practical. I would still like someone to tell me, though, not how to have a 'ship, but rather "wha!bam, here's
I thought better of it. I'd rather not have anyone tell me. I'd rather do it for myself. this implies some doing. effort. effort? effort. it also implies speaking to party number two ever again. granny mabel's underknickers, but that may be difficult!
lunch with jenny and sarah on the morrow. I'll need a strong constitution to counter what will no doubt be a meal of unintentional(?) barb-slinging. shiny shiny happy happy.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
wait faster
I've a bookmark that informs me that "a fine beginning is a beautiful thing." it must be true. it's chinese.
it's true. been trying for more than a week to restart the novella. figured it out last night, wrote it today. tried several other ways to start it. didn't work. died. now it's alive.
I really wasn't aware that gandhi had such a distended forehead. a political cartoon tells me it's so. what am I but a repository and reassociative mirror of media images?
really. thank goddess I found a way back into this story. I've been so dead.
my aesthetic statement for poetry says that if I don't write, bad things happen. equal parts funny haha and truth. I remind myself here that it. is. true. don't let it happen to you.
I feel like a prat for having read the "people" section of the newspaper today. I wouldn't admit to it. here's my secret. no, really, that's it.
I act differently if I'm on my porch. if it's sunny. if it's warm. if I'd just had lunch. if I can't/won't/haven't yet found a way back in. point case? today. wrote an email to an individual [man-boy-20] I've known several months saying that I liked him. true? not really. but see, but see, but see! I knew he'd write back. and that I'd get something good out of it. I did like him. before. before. melyssa asked me if I would be willing to wait for minus-tiful, and I affirmed. I think I would be. am? for now. boring, though, it's boring. and I do like him. danger? that I do something just to un-bore it. I'd knock myself cold with the frying pan of sense if given a chance. change.
it's still pm. an hour away from am. I'm tired. I've done things today. either home is soporific, or I hadn't been doing much at school. likely a mix of both. remedy. working on it. choosing helps.
it's true. been trying for more than a week to restart the novella. figured it out last night, wrote it today. tried several other ways to start it. didn't work. died. now it's alive.
I really wasn't aware that gandhi had such a distended forehead. a political cartoon tells me it's so. what am I but a repository and reassociative mirror of media images?
really. thank goddess I found a way back into this story. I've been so dead.
my aesthetic statement for poetry says that if I don't write, bad things happen. equal parts funny haha and truth. I remind myself here that it. is. true. don't let it happen to you.
I feel like a prat for having read the "people" section of the newspaper today. I wouldn't admit to it. here's my secret. no, really, that's it.
I act differently if I'm on my porch. if it's sunny. if it's warm. if I'd just had lunch. if I can't/won't/haven't yet found a way back in. point case? today. wrote an email to an individual [man-boy-20] I've known several months saying that I liked him. true? not really. but see, but see, but see! I knew he'd write back. and that I'd get something good out of it. I did like him. before. before. melyssa asked me if I would be willing to wait for minus-tiful, and I affirmed. I think I would be. am? for now. boring, though, it's boring. and I do like him. danger? that I do something just to un-bore it. I'd knock myself cold with the frying pan of sense if given a chance. change.
it's still pm. an hour away from am. I'm tired. I've done things today. either home is soporific, or I hadn't been doing much at school. likely a mix of both. remedy. working on it. choosing helps.
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