albatross

Lately I've had a storm in my heart that can't be quelled by any deep sigh, any good book, any loving man.  It follows me around, is across from me at coffee shops, in the corner of my bedroom, in my ear with every song.  I know I have to put it out myself; I just haven't a clue where to start.

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

a space

and even during the
best moments
and the greatest times

we will know it

we will know it
more than ever

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
and

we will wait
and wait

in that space.

:: Charles Bukowski ::

hellooo

I stopped writing because I stopped taking pictures.

But that's a lame excuse.

My most pressing thought currently is that New Jersey's fickle weather has my sinuses doing somersaults.  And I am not an acrobatic person.

magic

Sandra’s seen a leprechaun,

Eddie touched a troll,

Laurie danced with witches once,

Charlie found some goblins’ gold.

Donald heard a mermaid sing,

Susy spied an elf,

But all the magic I have known

I’ve had to make myself.

- Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends

the long haul

Carriacou Island on a mini-vacation with S, A and D, 2011. After some rain, the sun was just beginning to peak out.

March 16, 2006; 2:15am

Anh called today and in the span of 20 minutes, the last 21 years flashed before me. And I cried. To Skot. For the years passed, for those to come, for those unfolding uncontrollably before me.

But things picked up; they always do.

Walking home I saw a single cloud feign as if it were swallowing the moon, the dying incandescence of the glow diffusing across the sky.

And I realized the beauty of life is in its abuse. Beating, kicking, waning, falling, life runs away and you chase down long, lonely corridors of endless memories. But now and then it lets you win; you catch life in all its intangibility and you spend the rest of your days searching for that high.

----------------------------

January 30, 2012

My own whining is starting to bother even me. At some point the whole world enveloped around me and I can see nothing beyond my own troubles. I forget the bigger truth and the bigger goal to be "a force of nature instead of a feverish clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy", to quote Shaw. Luckily it's never too late to learn and you're never too old to change; it is a leap year after all.

coming home

Wednesday, July 26, 2006; 1:06 p.m.

I sit at Northern Lights, finishing off Mildred Pierce and taking notes on a napkin. Between chapter turnings and the whir of nearby espresso machines, my mind wanders to last night, to my paper, to my messy schedule. I think of those deliciously comfortable sandals at DSW yesterday meanwhile knowing I should stop shopping. I thought the same then, before buying a pair of black, close-toed heels. I've got 29 perfectly good pairs of shoes at home. I've got about 11 pairs of sunglasses collecting dust on my bookshelf. I've got 15 or so hand and shoulder bags hanging languidly in my closet. I've got a problem.

I'm not a slave to brand names. I don't need expensive things, flashy things, class-conscious things. I just need things. New things. All the time. I've become desire driven and involuntarily self-indulgent.

I think of the disparities between monetarily delusional Westwood and barren, desperate Rialto/Colton. I'm carefree and comfortable in my parents' house, sleeping/dancing in my room and reading/chatting in the study. I lounge on the couch, watch tv and basically eat my parents out of a home. But once I step outside the house, soak in the town, soak in the people, I wonder how I ever lived there. I feel every street, every store, every house sucks the life out of me. I run errands for my parents when I'm home, leaving my neighborhood to pass dilapidated buildings and ratty metal fences. I pass apartments with broken windows and equally broken families. Dry, yellow grass half-heartedly pokes through the ground, hoping someone will think of them. Men pass by with sun-baked, orange skin and sweaty countenances while women stand in grocery lines in clothes too tight to conceal their post-pregnancy bellies. People drink to oblivion and devour STAR magazines, wishing their years had been different. Humidity waits to slap you around every corner as you make grandiose plans to save the deflating bubble of mighty dreams. I live in a town where you run for your life.

I'm afraid I don't belong there anymore. I've been tainted with bigger and better things. After living here, do we ever really go home?

the tango

Taken at Grand Anse Beach where Saurabh and I always go for massages. I like that the clouds were pregnant with rain (and it poured shortly after). Who says beaches are only beautiful on sunny days anyway.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006; 2:51 a.m.

Dear Reader,

How are you? I'm beat, and it's late again. It's been quite a day, partly good but mostly just plain long.

My stomach's in knots and lodged in my throat. I opted not to write a paper for my American Lit class but rather to write a parody. I'm parodying not one novel but rather, a transposition of two. I'm describing the character through the eyes and words of another character, as told by another author, as told by me. I'm calling it "Forty Two" (the next chapter in the book), as my mind thrashes to suppress memories of you. And her. You and her.

I built its framework at Literati Cafe tonight, drowning in the buzz of the people and noises around me. It's all I can recall as the people and conversations of the past 2 weeks blur together in my mind.

I've got this project. And a Milton final. And some meetings in between. But then it's a night out, a celebration of the end of it all. And then it really will be the end of it all. How bittersweet.

Dear Reader, I want you to savor this moment. And this. And this. And this. I want you to pull them off your clothesline of seconds and bottle them. Send them to me some years later so I'll remember you once cared what I thought, so I'll remember our lives crossed once. Even if just briefly. Like now. And now. And now ..