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[Nov. 16th, 2005|02:05 am] |
ten things that make me happy?
tagged by clara. (I am indeed awake and alive.)
1) the right music at the right time.
2) a nice new york night with breezes, leaves, and leftover rain.
3) when she's happy.
4) when you're happy.
5) when I decide to hold my camera and it feels right, like an extension of my hands; when I take a photograph and know instantly afterwards that I was right and it was meant to be so, meant, so and so. when I hear the metallic shutter sound bite off a piece of the world. when I wind the roll of film and it feels tight and compact and undiluted and full and so compressed to the core.
6) meeting old friends again and knowing that clarissa is right about the strings and the wind and her oxford street, my avenues.
7) knowing that my home is wherever I am at the moment.
8) when I know enough and feel apart enough from other moments to know that I do have the ability to be happy.
9) the prospect of going somewhere new. the idea of baring myself and letting the world in to weaken my knees and to shake my curved horizon. bloodletting, but the other way around.
10) when I find faith, in small increments, in people.
for you all. |
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| porcellio scaber |
[Feb. 8th, 2005|11:41 pm] |
I look at what they write and they're all curling inside into small hard-shelled balls
today the glimmer on the sides of buildings reminds me of any other day when this would happen in any other way. flags glimmering transculent in the sunlight. anthem on the television. slo-mo movies of blue-collar workers smiling amidst welding sparks or grease-stained faces.
he writes these paragraphs. at least this is when I realize that it's already gone when he talks about collages [ccollajui ] and the current trend in indie rock [eeen di lak]. rapid fire articulation in my language, twisting deftly like quick slender fingers. this is when I know it's already gone gone when takes me more than a split second to catch what he's trying to say.
jacques derrida says, "I have only one language and it is not mine".
he lives in philadelphia thinking art and music and writing alone
she lives in manhattan thinking music and love and muses alone
he lives in brooklyn thinking love and art and living alone
I have to make these contracts, you see. what is the cost of speaking this language?
(I'd like to see you, coree) |
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