Something Pure and Infinite.

2010-05-17T21:15:00.001-05:00

The mind's volatile anxieties leave a turbulent froth at the receding tide of her self-awareness as she rolls into the same bed she had restlessly occupied 15 hours earlier. Sleep both haunts and evades her. Stark, flushed cheeks bearing a shocking resemblance to overripe papaya nestle beneath a neglected mane whose strands have born the day's events not without valor. She arranges and re-arranges her thoughts, as one would a bouquet of half-awake, half-bloomed wildflowers, yet to reach full maturation and brilliance of character. Finally unable to finish a cup of strong coffee for her distractedness, she is resigned to top off the various rings of stagnant residue with scalding water in a (vain) effort to preserve her brooding temperament and consciousness.

Complaint

2009-11-28T11:34:00.001-06:00

"My body and mind were to prove temperamental accomplices in the mission of appreciating my destination. The body found it hard to sleep and complained of heat, flies and difficulties digesting hotel meals. The mind meanwhile revealed a commitment to anxiety, boredom, free-floating sadness and financial alarm."

Sublime Places

2009-11-05T11:32:00.004-06:00

"If the world seems unfair or beyond our understanding, sublime places suggest that it is not surprising that things should be thus. We are the playthings of the forces that laid out the oceans and chiselled the mountains. Sublime places gently move us to acknowledge limitations that we might otherwise encounter with anxiety or anger in the ordinary flow of events. It is not just nature that defies us. Human life is as overwhelming. But it is the vast spaces of nature that perhaps provide us with the finest, the most respectful reminder of all that exceeds us. If we spend time in them, they may help us to accept more graciously the great, unfathomable events that molest our lives and will inevitably return us to dust." [The Art of Travel]

Chronicle #1

2009-10-15T12:28:00.001-05:00

I've recently been observing this bizarre tendency to surround myself with odd/misfit things, unsure as to how I became that way. Weather here isn't helping in my search.

Current Read: The Alchemist
Tuning: the Generationals
Mood: Ech.

Pause.

2009-07-19T15:55:00.002-05:00

The world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside of her. But there was no release. Table, ivory, elephant charm, rainbow, onion, hairdo, mollusk, Shabbos, violence, cuticle, melodrama, ditch, honey, doily...None of it moved her. She addressed her world honestly, searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her, but to each she would have to say, I don't love you. Bark-brown fence post: I don't love you. Poem too long: I don't love you. Lunch in a bowl: I don't love you. Physics, the idea of you, the laws of you: I don't love you. Nothing felt like anything more than what it actually was. Everything was just a thing, mired completely in its thingness." Jonathan Safron Foer

My hands are dry and cracked, a web of blue veins to match my tangled mass of thoughts. My room is a mess of boxes and old birthday cards and dead flowers, and my skin is pallid, smells of salt and fabric softener. I clutch the grass between my fingers, for fear of falling upward upward into one of those distant flecks of light, to be forever lost. Is it so good to be alive? Alive, clinging to the things that tie us down on the earth. In the idle moments of conversation, do the words pull us back down to earth? An exhale between syllables, silence begins to carry us further and further away. Would it be so bad a thing? If everyone was silent so we all would begin slowly to drift above the earth forever deeper into the sky. A human engine of sorts, not propelled by oil or water, but by silence