talking of Michaelangelo.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
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Padam... padam... // 8:53 am
Cet air qui m'obsède jour et nuit
Cet air n'est pas né d'aujourd'hui
Il vient d'aussi loin que je viens
Traîné par cent mille musiciens
Un jour cet air me rendra folle
Cent fois j'ai voulu dire pourquoi
Mais il m'a coupé la parole
Il parle toujours avant moi
Et sa voix couvre ma voix
Padam...padam...padam...
Il arrive en courant derrière moi
Padam...padam...padam...
Il me fait le coup du souviens-toi
Padam...padam...padam...
C'est un air qui me montre du doigt
Et je traîne après moi comme un drôle d'erreur
Cet air qui sait tout par cœur
Il dit: "Rappelle-toi tes amours
Rappelle-toi puisque c'est ton tour
'y a pas d'raison pour qu'tu n'pleures pas
Avec tes souvenirs sur les bras...
" Et moi je revois ceux qui restent
Mes vingt ans font battre tambour
Je vois s'entrebattre des gestes
Toute la comédie des amours
Sur cet air qui va toujours
Padam...padam...padam...
Des "je t'aime" de quatorze-juillet
Padam...padam...padam...
Des "toujours" qu'on achète au rabais
Padam...padam...padam...
Des "veux-tu" en voilà par paquets
Et tout ça pour tomber juste au coin d'la rue
Sur l'air qui m'a reconnue
...
Écoutez le chahut qu'il me fait
...
Comme si tout mon passé défilait
...
Faut garder du chagrin pour après
J'en ai tout un solfège sur cet air qui bat...
Qui bat comme un cœur de bois...
- - - - -
Oh, Edith Piaf...
This song haunts me night and day
This song is not the sort written today
It comes from as far away as I come from
Trawled by a hundred thousand musicians
One day this song will drive me crazy
A hundred times I wanted to ask "Why?"
But it stole the words away from me
It always speaks before I can try
And its voice is always louder than mine...
Padam, padam, padam,
It follows right behind me
Padam, padam, padam,
It strikes me with your memory
Padam, padam, padam,
It's a song that points out my fear
And I drag it around like a strange error
This song knows all that I hold dear
It says: "Remember your lovers
Remember when it's your turn to suffer
There's no reason for you not to cry
With all the memories you carry on by"
And again I see those left behind
My twenty years like the beat of a drummer
I watch as their gestures collide
Just like the comedy of my lovers
From this song that goes on forever...
Padam, padam, padam,
An "I love you" on the Fourteenth of July
Padam, padam, padam,
An "Always" is so cheap to buy
Padam, padam, padam,
An "I want you" like a present to hide
And all just to end up standing on the street
With the song that always recognizes me...
Listen to that crazy dance it insists I try...
As if my entire past marched on by...
Hold onto some sorrow, don't ask why
I share a whole bar in this song that starts
That beats like a wooden heart
Saturday, July 30, 2011
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life's a circus // 11:06 am
What a fantastic show we put on. Had its great moments of hilarity.
By the end of the show, the pride was bursting from my whole being. I stood and clapped so hard for my children. My hands almost broke from clapping. I loved it and them so much. Their work, their collective creation.
It was so colourful and fun and so full of energy and happy. I wanted to jump up and down with them. I wanted to laugh with them.
I gave every single one of them a hug after.
The music is still playing and playing and will probably be playing for awhile....
Padam... padam...
Thursday, July 28, 2011
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hot antic jazz band // 10:48 am
"I can't stop loving you." -- The ending is so good.
I get to call a show tomorrow. Officially. (With Lighting, Sound...) Oh my gosh it's so nerve wracking and SCARY! What if I mess up? The kids will hate me forever...........!
Life is busy and exhausting... and no sleep is enough.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
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the storm after the calm // 10:57 am
Everybody needs to
calm down.
I'm so busy I don't have to breathe and all I want to do is lie on my bed all day and think or enjoy the summery breeze that happens so rarely.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
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lifted fog // 11:46 am
Tonight I saw what I could have/would have/might have had; but as I saw, I knew, what I have right now is what I want so much more than what I could have/would have/might have had. It's because the other you, the real, the ever present background you - you are you that makes the knowing so certain. I know that what I saw in the past was foggy and smokey and skewed by what I didn't know. That past gravitational pull to the unknown, the fear and risk of what I thought I could own or have or keep. What I thought was the model, the standard of what I measured to be what I wanted, it's gone. So I am free, the heaviness lifted and I can even be happy you are the other's.
So, this is it. Step forward, a good step.
Dear Person A,
You're not as good as I thought, actually you're not good at all for what I thought you were good for but I'm happy that is what it is. And now, your chapter has finally closed tight. No claws thrashing out nor whispers of gnashing teeth. The monster quiet. No left over bones, no scars.
Good night, it was a pleasure to meet you for real
and know, there's no such thing as this "ideal".
K
Thursday, July 21, 2011
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reverse sociological phenomena // 7:52 am
Agree to it. Engage.
The power of agreeing imaginations,
brings the imagination of
the first mime
alive to the people watching.
Mime - know what both imaginations are agreeing to.
There's a girl in the class, she's often mistaken for a boy, much to her disadvantage. Often isolated and last to be picked for partner games, she is the fun one in the play, who does not get left out. In the play, she is the new one, the coveted one, the star of the circus, the one praised most.
And the one who is praised most, Miss Populaire, most loved by peers is the bully in the play, the one who steals, the one who deceives.
Of course, we're talking about children here.
They live happily ever after.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
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growing games bank // 8:33 am
Girl with old soul, avid reader.
Says this to her teacher:
"But he won't feel as strongly as I do,
that's just the way he is,
and that's just the way I am."
In response to her teacher who said:
"Don't you think that you doing that back to him
will just start this whole unpleasant affair?
This taking revenge doesn't really get anyone anywhere."
It's good to know yourself.
"I'm a lizard."Caribbean Jazz is really good!
A curious acquaintance I have,
with a professional clown.
She's hilarious and we share the
giggles. And she has got the most
lovely face.
Monday, July 18, 2011
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les oursons dans la tasse // 4:40 am
No rain, no rainbow.
Deep dark purple flowers
carry and exude a feeling of sensuality.
Light hydrangeas are pretty
and look rather gentle, I am particularly
fond of blue white hued ones. They've always got
a tint of acceptable pink in them.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
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lessons from the father: life skills // 10:41 pm
Proud wearer of the "Think For Yourself" shirt,
the father has endeavored to make me a better,
more useful person since 1988.
Today, he is teaching me:
how to sew a button back on a garment.(Are the words overcompensating for who I really am?
Stop replacing me with my words. They are great, but
I lack their poise. Don't wake up one day and realize
how foolish you were to be fooled by mere noise.)
The pigs are blind, they are blind.
But they smile smugly; conspiring.
-
poltergeists // 12:51 pm
Sleep is evading me...
come, be my friend, I can be good.
We've had some special moments before.
Come, come be my friend, let me dream.
You plague me enough when we are together,
please don't do it while we're not.
I can't afford to fight you,
you are too strong and difficult.
Thoughts are crowding and crowding me.
Decisions and difficult words these days...
Escapist fiction...
"Women eat green salad and drink red blood."
Herzog is a gem.
"He went out, fighting his sadness over this solitary life. His chest expanded, and he caught his breath. 'For Christ's sake, don't cry, you idiot! Live or die, but don't poison everything.'"
Got to love his little crazies.
(How he doted on his memories! What a funny sensual bird he was! Queer for recollections, perhaps? But why use such harsh words. He was what he was.)Have I/am I doing the right thing?
Maybe I should release my fist a bit,
let the palm rest just a little.
"...you see, people can be free now but the freedom doesn't have any content. It's like a howling emptiness."Do I like this better
or am I just in denial again?
Why do I have to question the
life out of everything; this ongoing
voice voice voice that wheezes and
makes sarcastic remarks by my ear
and I can't I can't I can't I want to
but I can't and I hear it but I push it
away
I don't remember, and maybe that's why I
am like this and I don't want to push
hard and end up pushing
away
I am okay, don't overthink. It is like this
in the nights. It will be like this and it is,
it has always been, like this.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
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echeveria // 7:12 am
Feeling rather dismal from work today, I decided to go to the botanist and make a purchase, a surprise for the mother. I wanted to buy an echeveria, but they were sad looking and pretty droopy. So instead, I chose one from a similar family, the crassulaceae.
I bought her a cotyledon elisae, lovely still, but cuter, less poignant, more rounded. She still hasn't seen it, I really hope she likes it.
Interview tonight... the stomach churns.
Not a great feeling...
It's been sort of a rough two weeks,
here's to hoping the following ones will be better.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
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tired and misty all the time // 8:10 pm
These days the sleep is sparse.
The dreaming is felt, but unremembered.
-
neither wrong nor right // 7:42 am
You are so good at making me not feel the void of time and
I feel my gratitude and my affection for you continuously
over brimming.
"I can feel you sometimes, you are here.
I am there too, I try to be where you are too." And I you.
And everything that is ours is still ours so fully
and I walk by places that are ours and instead of wanting to
burst into tears, I smile and think that you are here, too.
You are good to me.
And we will be good and strong. And we will be ours again soon.
And this is ours, too. And really, it's intensely poignant.
"Acquainted with the Night"by Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
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it's those rare times when a dance just makes you feel the song // 1:09 pm
Leona Lewis - I Got You(Featured in SYTYCD8 Melanie and Marko)
A place to crash, I got you
No need to ask, I got you
Just get on the phone, I got you
Come and pick you up if I have to
What's weird about it is we're right at the end
I'm mad about it, just figured it out in my head
I'm proud to say I got you
Go ahead and say goodbye, I'll be alright
Go ahead and make me cry, I'll be alright
And when you need a place to run to
For better, for worse I got you, I got you
Ain't falling apart or bitter
Let's be bigger than that and remember
The cooling outdoor when you're all alone
Won't survive it, no drama, no need for a show
Just wanna say I got you
Go ahead and say goodbye, I'll be alright
Go ahead and make me cry, I'll be alright
And when you need a place to run to
For better, for worse I got you
Go ahead and say goodbye, I'll be alright
Go ahead and make me cry, I'll be alright
And when you need a place to run to
For better, for worse, I got you
'Cause this is love and life
And nothing we can both control
And if it don't feel right
You're not losing me by letting me know
Go ahead and say goodbye, I'll be alright
Go ahead and make me cry, I'll be alright
And when you need a place to run to
For better, for worse I got you
...and it's a good song
-
weaving // 11:33 am
You should know that your email almost crippled me.
It made me cry from missing. I held it in for too long
and then I flooded. Broken faucet.
abcdefghijklmnopqrstvwxyz
Randomandos:Applying to a slew of jobs.
The laughing vines.
Book talks and crazy amounts of work!
Good laughter with the cousin.
Stockholm syndrome.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
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please be safe // 10:08 pm
I keep regretting not turning back and giving you another kiss. Another ten kisses. Another hundred.
And all I can think about is you and you and you.... nothing's changed. You've made it impossible for me to forget you now.
-
promises, don't forget them // 11:37 am
"Be strong."
Grateful for and to you.
Monday, July 04, 2011
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應該聽媽咪話... // 6:14 am
K, 唔好
任性啦... 先做好功課然後去玩啦!
(...like a child.)
Procrastinating... lazying... much prefer reading and watching what I don't need to read and watch.
悶死人啦........
-
mortified // 4:16 am
I solemnly swear that when I have children, they will not be coaxed or bribed with electronic devices to eat their food. (Maybe with books.) But really? One game per bite?!
Really?On a much happier note, the purple of blueberries make me smile.
Saturday, July 02, 2011
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Tutto fa brodo. // 7:03 am
It's characters like him, their voices who I am drawn to immediately. And how can I resist someone with the name Moses Elkanah Herzog. And his "convalescence", hmm. Some quotes, later.
The Boy suggested that I go out and take a walk today on account of the good weather. And I did, much to my own surprise, on an Oblomov inspired day as this. Went to the park playground in hopes to read a bit. Lay in the shade, while soaking in the sounds of the children laughing and screaming.
Relocated to a bench to read (and have full view of the playground -- to peek at them at their play). Really, I was just living vicariously through them and their role playing games. (I kept thinking to the drama school I will soon be teaching and how these kids would love the program so much.)
Couldn't help myself, I had to go on the swings. I've
always loved swings. And they were right there! As I went higher and higher up I could touch the tree almost, higher and higher, the wind and my hair were one. The parents watched me with bewilderment and the children with envy. High, then higher, up and then back down, my toes sometimes mixing with warm sand. A pendulum of happy.
And I was the Queen. I was Queen of Captain Hook and his sister who adamantly refused to be Captain Poopoo; Queen of the octopus crew member; Queen of the warm sand with water likeness; Queen of the nervous teenage boy trying to impress the constantly text-messaging girl on the swing set next to mine; Queen of the ice cream truck that played tinkling Christmas carols (of all music to play). Transformed, I watched my rolling, turning, up and downing world with wonder and imagination that I had thought didn't exist in me anymore. The breeze, my court, the trees, my ladies in waiting; the swing, my throne; the children, my jesters.
And I was glad I took that walk. Back home, I lay down again, as Oblomov, and chewed on ice, thinking back on the moments of my royalty today.
Friday, July 01, 2011
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hate endings // 6:32 am
Qué puta es la guerra.
He could feel his heart beating against the pine-needle floor of the forest."There is no good-by, guapa, because we are not apart."
-
friendly fires // 4:16 am
A collection of jotted down miscellanies...
"I don't know. The trouble with me is, I
like it when somebody digresses. It's more interesting and all.... Oh, sure! I like somebody to stick to the point and all. But I don't like them to stick
too much to the point. I don't know. I guess I don't like it when somebody sticks to the point
all the time.... It's nice when somebody tells you about their father's farm and then all of a sudden get more interested in their uncle. I mean it's dirty to keep yelling 'Digression!' at him when he's all nice and excited..." -
Catcher in the RyeSo, that was the disclaimer to this post.
You know, I regarded Holden with dislike and maybe even a little disdain. His intolerance of artificiality, his aversion towards hypocrisy, his attempt to conceive his world and society as a banal place, unworthy of his participation, his naive belief in children's innocence, his loneliness at moments, it all seemed silly to me -- but after much thought, I almost began to see some of that in myself (at least maybe in previous versions of myself, or deep down enough that I don't really want to admit to). I didn't think hard about this until now, but I greatly dislike phonies, just as much, if not more than he does. He is just more quick to judge and point them out.
His words,
"They didn't act like people and they didn't act like actors. It's hard to explain. They acted more like they knew they were celebrities and all. I mean they were good, but they were too good. .... They acted a bit the way old Ernie, down in the village plays the piano. If you do something too good, then, after a while, if you don't watch it, you start showing off."I know of such people that he talks of. I have met and gotten to know them these days. An actress who is past her prime who is that way. She got too good at it and then decided to become a teacher instead. And the way she holds herself. Those bright, calculating eyes, the charisma! Her formidable essence and aura despite her small stature. Her large mess of hair. The way she can recite jargon and say the right things at the right moment, you can almost forget she's a phony, just playing the role, acting with every gesture every twitch of an eyebrow. When she walks in the room I feel smaller, more incompetent.
The irony of another. A teacher teaching how to teach adolescents when making, what I feel to be, making detrimental mistakes to the core of teaching -- the needs of the students. Singling people out, calling people out on their errors so outwardly and with such humiliation. What kind of example are you setting for us? You got too good and now you have forgotten what it is like? Human, have you forgotten what it is like to be more human and less teacher?
Actually I was saying to my mother (who was mostly only hearing and not listening , who is often only hearing and not listening), "I really dislike those people who are fake and two-faced. It's alright if they are really good at being fake and you can't tell they're fake. I'm okay if I can be deceived, but if they're so obviously fake... I can't stand them." The mother only nodded in agreement to silence me.
I hate the dermatologists' office, I hate coming out of it ten times out of ten feeling so disgusting and shameful and and and... there are some serene and beautiful and perfect people there. So smiley and whispering not to your face and the make up on your face feels like a flimsy mask that is crusting up and falling apart and they can see right through to your very marks and your ugly tan and your and your... and you feel disgusting and they can be so. Damn. Fake. And still you smile back (with only the front of your face) because the dermatologist will help you and eventually you'll feel good about yourself again.
And all those days of goodness has now just deteriorated back into badness and it will take time again to build back up and... I worked so hard too. But this is for good. The dermatologist is good. In the end, this will be good. And the people there are so phony. And you can feel their really fake million dollar smiles.
Something about the carousel
gets me, too. The way it
gets Holden. And the rain and the protection and the happy he experiences. I
got that. Good enough.
Finishing books is like, the emptying of something. Even if it wasn't fantabulous or even great and you probably won't ever read it again. There's still this hole, one that can't be filled up with earth or water or fire or words. I keep imagining this emptiness, so deep so low that it's like an abyss that you keep falling and falling into, but you'll never come back. That's what the end of a book is like, even if it wasn't great.
On another completely different note, I had not thought of this until last night after much consideration of grace, flow, elegance, refinement and spirit. These things that are so blatant and can be so easily expressive as I see now. The expression of spirit, of passions and sensualities in physical movement, in speed, in the "radical creative". How it can reveal culture, how it can exhibit the best parts of a people. It's astonishing, really. (In considering the Argentine Tango, the Brazilian Samba/Rumba, the Bollywood routines... choreography of soccer and of ice dance and and and...)
And the war wages on... one battle after another... fires inextinguishable...
It's been awhile, so the thoughts have been brewing and brewing in my cauldron and haven't bubbled to the surface until now when it is over brimming and must flow out. Apologies for the lengthy and at times, boring post. It is only the summers that I am idling can I post such miscellanies I find also loitering in my mind. Other summers, I travel and work and the posts are not like this...
Words... too many words. Words!
And the other brother, the brother of the best friend, his worst fear is this, "being unable to think anymore and the process of slowly losing the ability to remember". And the best friend, she is living her worst fear she tells me. His fear, her fear, and my fear? What is this fear of mine, has it changed?
The fire, the fire... the brother uses this term, the friendly fires.
