harbouring: (Default)

...the body unrules,
hand-feeds the mind the reasons it needs.

- - s. dunn

Rachael, 21, terrible student.
harbouring: (Default)
There are people who do not see a broken playground swing
as a symbol of ruined childhood

and there are people who don't interpret the behavior
of a fly in a motel room as a mocking representation of their thought process.

There are people who don't walk past an empty swimming pool
and think about past pleasures irrecoverable

and then stand there blocking the sidewalk for other pedestrians.
I have read about a town somewhere in California where human beings

do not send their tuberous feeder roots
deep into the potting soil of others' emotional lives

as if they were greedy six-year-olds
sucking the last half inch of milkshake up through a noisy straw;

and other persons in the Midwest who can kiss without
unpacking the imperialist baggage of heterosexuality.

Do you see that creamy, lemon-yellow moon?
There are some people, unlike me and you,

who do not yearn after love or fame or quantities of money as
unattainable as that moon;

Thus, they do not later
have to waste more time
defaming the object of their former ardor.

Or consequently run and crucify themselves
in some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha.

I have news for you:
there are people who get up in the morning and cross a room

and open a window to let the sweet breeze in
and let it touch them all over their faces and bodies.

- - Tony Hoagland
harbouring: (Default)
Without asking for (or doing) much the universe just sort of said 'here, you don't have to put yourself out' and I'm going to start working for my dad's company as of next week. I'm a little worried my (fancy fancy) mind won't be up to it: all computers and logic and, well, actually working.

I'm excited, though! My little brother will be there too (nepotism is alive and well) and it's money in the bank. Unless I can't do it and my uncle fires me and the whole world burns in the flames of my doom.
harbouring: (til somebody finds us)
"I watched them walk down the steps, turned around in the hallway, and heard myself say, "I'm so lonely." It shook me because this sentence had become an involuntary verbal tic. I seldom realized I was saying it or perhaps didn't know that I was speaking the words out loud. I had started to experience this unbidden mantra even when I was still married, mumbling it before sleep, in the bathroom, or even at the grocery store, but it had become even more pronounced in the last year. My father had it with my mother's name. While he was sitting alone in a chair, before he dozed off, and later, in his room at the nursing home, he would utter Marit over and over. He did it sometimes when she was within hearing distance. If she answered the call, he seemed not to know that he had spoken. That is the strangeness of language: it crosses the boundaries of the body, is at once inside and outside, and it sometimes happens that we don't notice the threshold has been crossed. "
- - from 'The Sorrows of an American', Siri Hustvedt

Help a little.
Be friend and friendly, body and a boat.
I am not asking this for me but
I am asking, not singing
but sung.
In any case the garden is overgrown
and I am trying to remember
the way home from your house
and who beat who into kindness this time.

harbouring: (til somebody finds us)
  • 'bird gerhl' by antony and the johnsons

  • non-required reading, at last

  • draft dissertation proposals

  • korres brandy shower gel

  • 'paradise lost' theory and make-your-own epic poetry

  • sinade, finally, apologetically, rewardingly

  • music festival plans that won't come to fruition but still sound great

  • "in case of older sounds escaping: left to right"

  • voicemail

  • "To the way it fits, the way it is, the way it seems
    to be: let me bash out praises -- pass the tambourine." - kathleen jamie

  • 'serial mom'

  • my brother and suzanna planning their wedding! and maybe having it in one of the(beautiful) buildings owned by my (beautiful) university

  • end of term/natalie coming home/pretending I don't have to get a job ever
  • harbouring: (even after all)
    It's just easier to deal in shortcuts:
    If I then I so I
    I know this because I am that because I said these things because

    I leave these huge gaps in diary entries, thinking 'I know the way this sentence ends' and forgetting that eventually I won't, that what's vital now might not be next week. That's why I like things like last.fm, where I can go back and say that for a week in April I listened to The Magnetic Fields and Etta James, and I can pretend that it means a lot. I like looking up things that happened on my birthday, too. I read blogs and look at pictures and know what the weather was like, whichever year it is. It's all just a thread - faint but strong, yellow in my mind - that pulls its own way through things. It's checking on myself, pinning things to my shirt to prove that I'm not just today and it isn't just now that matters.

    I don't know - you'd have to tell me - but does everyone think about their body as much as I do? Not in terms of its appearance (can I get another blah for that blah blah blah), more in terms of how strange it is, how quickly and fatally it can falter and fail. I think 'this is my hand' and I rest it on the table, think 'this is my foot' and get the cold-chill soul-dread when I think it should have reached the floor already but it keeps going.

    Proprioception is the sense we have of the parts of our body, where they are in relation to one another. It's what they're testing when they ask drunk people to close their eyes and touch their noses. It gets confused, sometimes, like when you're tired (or drunk), or when you wake up after sleeping with your arm above your head and it's all numb and not-where-it-should-be. The brain doesn't know what the body has done with itself.

    What a dirty trick to play.


    harbouring: (Default)
    this little country

    May 2009

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