Tuesday, September 28, 2010

inspiration: espacio, carl sagan

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas.

allen ginsberg

la vie les aventures.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

it's so cold in alaska

I've realized (and it's been pointed out to me, more than once) that what I write here has gradually progressed from well-written quasi essay entries to often incoherent, strange palaver. I think it's because I have come to the conclusion that writing is more enjoyable when I don't think about how it will be received. I don't really like recapping my day or writing about things I don't find to be actually interesting.

I wish I had an SLR to take higher-quality pictures. I wish I had more time to edit pictures and make them look how I want them to look or how I thought they looked in the moment. Actually, it's really not true that I don't have the time or resources to edit pictures. I work in a computer lab. What I mean is that I don't have the patience to spend time on it (and I need to dedicate a lot of the time to homework, career researching, blah blah blah). I didn't take any of the pictures in my last post, and usually I don't. It's pretty obvious if they're my pictures by the entry.

I've started spending more time on serious subjects, and I guess writing in here is a chance to actually say what I want to say (unless I cited something at the bottom, I wrote it), and keep track of things I find to be beautiful. It's refreshing, and I feel like it's a manifestation of my imagination. And if you actually enjoy reading it, I'm glad. Thank you so much for reading what I write. This blog has become a foray into how I think, and if you like it, that's the best thing I could ever hear.

Here is something I read in Anthropology 414 by Edward Sapir I really liked. I hope you do, too. It's beautiful (you are too, and somebody probably thought that about you today). It's not the whole poem, just my favorite part.

i send you this. through the monotony
of mumbling melody, the established fall
and rise of the slow dreaming ritual
through the dry glitter of the desert sea
and sharpness of the mesa, keep the flowing
of your spirit, in many branching ways
be running mirrors to the colored maze
not pool enchanted nor a water slowing.

edward sapir, january 1926

Monday, September 20, 2010

spirit if..

I'm still surprised when I think about how much came out of that moment. When you got off of the train, and you walked right past me. It was snowing, and you were walking really fast because it was so cold. I remember feeling a little bit warmer when you walked by. I didn't know that everything would be irrevocably different after that moment. Like everything in the world had put me there at that exact second, because it knew that second would change my life forever. The universe wanted to give me that, even though it didn't owe me anything. I never really thought about fate, but I can't help but think about it when I think about that, and how everything that's ever happened to me seemed to lead up to it.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

durstig geist

Build in yourself a tower of righteousness. Plant in yourself a garden of things you find to be true and beautiful. Protect your ideals and do not allow life to dash them, as it will try. Remember the things that you find stunning and internalize them; let them consume you and you will begin to reflect those very things yourself.

Monday, September 13, 2010

you are tired, i think

you are tired (i think)
you are tired,
(i think)
of the always puzzle of living and doing;
and so am I.

come with me, then,
and we’ll leave it far and far away-
(only you and I, understand!)

you have played,
(i think)
and broke the toys you were fondest of,
and are a little tired now;
tired of things that break, and-
just tired.
so am i.

but I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
and I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
open to me!
for I will show you places nobody knows,
and, if you like,
the perfect places of Sleep.

ah, come with me!
i’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
that floats forever and a day;
i’ll sing you the jacinth song
of the probable stars;
i will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
until I find the Only Flower,
which shall keep (i think) your little heart
while the moon comes out of the sea.

-e.e. cummings

Friday, September 10, 2010


"I like the stars. It’s the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they’re always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend … I can pretend that things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don’t last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend."

Destruction, Sandman; Brief Lives

do you remember the last time you kissed me? in that little hotel, when you thought everyone else was sleeping. maybe you thought i was sleeping too, but i wasn't. i could feel your doubt. maybe we could rent a room again. are we really going to go to oaxaca? i want to go. remember when we were in the bus and we watched all the little villages go by? and i showed you all the pictures of my family. and the way the light fell on our bed in the morning? this city is breaking my heart. don't act like there isn't a huge space between us. maybe we could go to lebanon on a secret trip.

Monday, September 6, 2010

north, damen & milwaukee




the best way is to not fight it, just go.

chuck palahlniuk

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

indian summer

There's something heavy in the air, the kind of heaviness that you feel every time you inhale or try to move that settles onto your skin like an invisible sheet. The charged feeling you notice when you walk into a church in the middle of a mass, as if all the energy of the place is lingering around you. You breathe in and it catches you too. I guess it's indian summer, and it's as pervaded with humidity from the fleeting heat as it is with the evening chill of autumn. The kind of air that can't figure out if it wants to go back to what was before, or continue on, knowing winter is next. It's full of conflicted emotion and anxiety, as someone who thought they wanted to leave but then hesitated viscerally at the door.