'uulgatos taceo' dixit 'pastoris amores
Daphnidis Idaei, quem nymphae paelicis ira
contulit in saxum (tantus dolor urit amantes);
nec loquor ut quondam naturae iure nouato
ambiguus fuerit modo uir, modo femina Sithon.
te quoque, nunc adamas, quondam fidissime paruo,
Celmi, Ioui largoque satos Curetas ab imbri
et Crocon in qaruos uersum cum Similace flores
praetereo dulcique animos nouitate tenebo...
Magdalena, when she finished with the story, experienced the bizzare sensation of a heatwave, which originated in her heart and spread with a nauseating pulse through her limbs, over and over. She wasn't too amenable to this new sensation, and suddenly began to dream again of the ocean, who's waves were cool, but awfully far away. She thought of death, of life, and of the things which might be in between.
The feeling passed, and Magdalena got the sense that she should be having a revelation. Rather, she realized that she had been sitting in the sun for a long time, with no water, and only a mealy mango to keep her going. Deciding that this was the source of her recent turmoil, she headed towards the tin and leather shed, and her father.
The evil ghost they both knew as boredom had enveloped Zvi as well, and Magdalena found him vacant on a rocking chair, in the shade of a makeshift porch. Though a tender hearted and loving man, Zvi had a broken liver which caused him to have a rather taciturn nature, as he was concerned about the effects conversation could have on his health. If he became overly excited, he reasoned, his bile might get stirred up and cause his body's toxins to intermingle in disasterous ways. So he mostly kept to himself, in the rocking chair. Magdalena wondered what he mused about, if anything, but didn't want to upset his liver by asking.
Thus she was left to her own devices when contemplating this potential revelation brought on by Lizaveta's story. She would have asked her mother Lili about it, if she weren't out looking for flowers. Magdalena went inside her dark, almost cool home and lay down on the cot which served as her bed, in the corner. Her mind drifted to the possibilites of miracles, and how they were granted. She decided that they came not from Zeus or some omniscient diety, but from the force of human will to believe in them. The ability to believe things into existance may be the only thing that has ever made anything happen. Zvi believed in love, back when his liver worked, and he found Lili on an ice floe in the Arctic Circle. Lili believed flowers should burst from window boxes in the arid interior of Portugal, and so they did.
Magdalena believed she needed a friend. Someone or something to love, which would be her companion and bastion from boredom in return. She just wasn't sure where this mysterious entity would come from, although the ache in her heart and belly, felt from the time of the quasi-revelation to the present moment, was brewing a plan of its own.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
The Virgin
Sea-girl, Magdalena
says, ca-caw ca-caw
squaking a song to
nothing at all,
at all at all.
She lived in a funny part of Portugal, where not much went on. There was dust, there were brambles, and some crooked, dry trees. Her house was tin and leather, where she stayed with her parents, mostly her father; mom was very busy, out and about.
Magdalena often cursed her fate, thinking she was meant for much more, as young girls will. Although she did cool her heels when she thought of her mother's early days. Father had found her on an island in the Arctic Ocean, off the coast of Lapland, where even less went on. Rather than tin and leather, she was surrounded by hides and ice, in an igloo, as the Inuits call it. Lili had neither mother nor father - just an old crone they called Lizaveta, because she was Russian and smelled of the sebum which is secreeted by seals. Anyway, Zvi found Lili on an expedition. He was from Israel, which was considering a national relocation. Lapland had its appeal, what with the Reindeer and all. But when Lili was discovered, Zvi and his party were more or less on a joy ride, swirling and swooshing through glaciers and ice-floes.
If only they'd known they were going to find a beautiful girl and a smelly old lady. They would have brought Champagne and soap, to be sure. Lili had pale green eyes, ones you don't see very often, and a charming snaggle-tooth. Her skin was smooth and tawny, despite the arctic clime. You know the sun reflects off snow.
Lizaveta, on the other hand, had a large hooked nose, wart and all, squinting eyes hidden behind crows feet which had turned into wings, and was wrapped in so much fur she looked like the combination of a rock, Frankenstein's monster, and a Werewolf.
Zvi thought this was no kind of place for Lili, and invited her and Lizaveta aboard. He and the Israelites were travelling on an arctic schooner, which had warm quarters below deck, resembling a bear's den. The stove burned whale blubber, and emitted an odor comparable to that of a perfume factory. The two L's were amenable to the offer, and clambered into the bear's den, which felt more like home to them than the igloo.
The long and short of it is that they ended up in Portugal. Lili wanted to be a florist, and Zvi thought he'd convert to Islam. There were lots of mosques around, but not many flowers, which is why Magdalena's mother was gone more often than not. Zvi didn't seem to mind. He was just happy to be rid of Lizaveta (died of a heat stroke), with her seal smell and her grumbles under the fur.
Meanwhile, Magdalena was thinking the ocean was the place for her. She thought about swimming, and about drowning, and was fairly sure she'd be okay with either. Then she found one of Lizaveta's old books. In it was a story about the daughter of a God, who was born from her father's semen floating in the ocean, which was the foam of the sea. She came to shore on a seashell, with her hair wrapped around her bare form. This is when the gears really started turning for our Virgin.
To Be Continued
says, ca-caw ca-caw
squaking a song to
nothing at all,
at all at all.
She lived in a funny part of Portugal, where not much went on. There was dust, there were brambles, and some crooked, dry trees. Her house was tin and leather, where she stayed with her parents, mostly her father; mom was very busy, out and about.
Magdalena often cursed her fate, thinking she was meant for much more, as young girls will. Although she did cool her heels when she thought of her mother's early days. Father had found her on an island in the Arctic Ocean, off the coast of Lapland, where even less went on. Rather than tin and leather, she was surrounded by hides and ice, in an igloo, as the Inuits call it. Lili had neither mother nor father - just an old crone they called Lizaveta, because she was Russian and smelled of the sebum which is secreeted by seals. Anyway, Zvi found Lili on an expedition. He was from Israel, which was considering a national relocation. Lapland had its appeal, what with the Reindeer and all. But when Lili was discovered, Zvi and his party were more or less on a joy ride, swirling and swooshing through glaciers and ice-floes.
If only they'd known they were going to find a beautiful girl and a smelly old lady. They would have brought Champagne and soap, to be sure. Lili had pale green eyes, ones you don't see very often, and a charming snaggle-tooth. Her skin was smooth and tawny, despite the arctic clime. You know the sun reflects off snow.
Lizaveta, on the other hand, had a large hooked nose, wart and all, squinting eyes hidden behind crows feet which had turned into wings, and was wrapped in so much fur she looked like the combination of a rock, Frankenstein's monster, and a Werewolf.
Zvi thought this was no kind of place for Lili, and invited her and Lizaveta aboard. He and the Israelites were travelling on an arctic schooner, which had warm quarters below deck, resembling a bear's den. The stove burned whale blubber, and emitted an odor comparable to that of a perfume factory. The two L's were amenable to the offer, and clambered into the bear's den, which felt more like home to them than the igloo.
The long and short of it is that they ended up in Portugal. Lili wanted to be a florist, and Zvi thought he'd convert to Islam. There were lots of mosques around, but not many flowers, which is why Magdalena's mother was gone more often than not. Zvi didn't seem to mind. He was just happy to be rid of Lizaveta (died of a heat stroke), with her seal smell and her grumbles under the fur.
Meanwhile, Magdalena was thinking the ocean was the place for her. She thought about swimming, and about drowning, and was fairly sure she'd be okay with either. Then she found one of Lizaveta's old books. In it was a story about the daughter of a God, who was born from her father's semen floating in the ocean, which was the foam of the sea. She came to shore on a seashell, with her hair wrapped around her bare form. This is when the gears really started turning for our Virgin.
To Be Continued
Saturday, January 12, 2008
I'm Thinkin On It
Someone dear said to me last night that it would be amazing if I did all the things I spontaneously think about doing. That the products of these ideas would be worthwhile. I don't know if that's true, but it made me think. Am I super lazy? (The answer to this is 'Yes'). I think the other half of the problem is that I don't believe it would be good, as I just stated above. What's my deal? Why don't I think I'm good at anything besides writing essays and droning in offices? Probably because I've never given myself a chance. And I'm lazy.
Seriously. I'm what I would call a 'pleasure seeker,' and I derive the most pleasure from interacting with my friends, which doesn't leave a lot of time for me to work on my personal pursuits, whatever those may be. So far all I do is read. But I think I've done enough reading now to start writing.
Another issue is that I don't usually generate ideas in isolation. I need to talk and ruminate and ramble with others to come to my ideas. Like last night I was arguing about how being bored could give you a rash, because stress can give you a rash, and you can get stressed out from boredom, so boredom is the root cause of the rash. Brian said this was like thinking you could pray yourself pregnant. Which gave me the idea to write a story about a teenage girl named Magdalena who is so bored that she decides to knock herself up. For entertainment. Then I decided I would write a short story every day of my unemployment, which is what started the conversation referred to in the initial thought of this post.
So now you see my process. I'm blogging because of a conversation, and I got a story idea from said conversation.
But maybe I will do more writing. I need to harness my willpower, my belief in myself, and the ability to be alone for more than an hour at a time.
Speaking of hanging out with yourself, I left the CC Club pretty early last night, biked home, and took a long bath. Then I finally hooked up my tv and dvd player and watched The Last Waltz from bed. God damn, that was awesome. So I had a pretty great date with myself. I also realized that I have a crush on Robbie Robertson and Rick Danko. And I LOVE Danko's voice. I had to watch the video to realize he sang 'It Makes No Difference,' which is an inherently sappy song, though it's so god damn sweet that you have to love it. I had a transcendental moment because of that song.
I put the record on, and wasn't really paying attention. I think I was sitting in the windowsill smoking and thinking to myself. Then I sort of spontaneously started crying, weeping actually, until I came to and realized it was the sound of the person's voice who was singing the song. That's when I fell in love with The Band.
Holy shit, what a bunch of amazing musicians. And they all have such incredibly diverse personalities, and each equally interesting. Also Van Morrison's performance is the bomb. He looks like this crazy, chubby little pip squeak next to Robertson and Danko, in a purple bodysuit thing with sparkles. Then he starts singing and you're like, 'Holy shit! Where is that coming from?' Then you realize it's fucking Van Morrison. Yow.
Also, I loved Ron Wood's appearance, along with Ringo Starr, for the finale. He looks like this big hawkish, cynical creep up there amisdt all love vibes being circulated by The Band and co. Very interesting.
Okay, enough ranting. Gotta get moving. Lots of social obligations to distract me from myself.
Seriously. I'm what I would call a 'pleasure seeker,' and I derive the most pleasure from interacting with my friends, which doesn't leave a lot of time for me to work on my personal pursuits, whatever those may be. So far all I do is read. But I think I've done enough reading now to start writing.
Another issue is that I don't usually generate ideas in isolation. I need to talk and ruminate and ramble with others to come to my ideas. Like last night I was arguing about how being bored could give you a rash, because stress can give you a rash, and you can get stressed out from boredom, so boredom is the root cause of the rash. Brian said this was like thinking you could pray yourself pregnant. Which gave me the idea to write a story about a teenage girl named Magdalena who is so bored that she decides to knock herself up. For entertainment. Then I decided I would write a short story every day of my unemployment, which is what started the conversation referred to in the initial thought of this post.
So now you see my process. I'm blogging because of a conversation, and I got a story idea from said conversation.
But maybe I will do more writing. I need to harness my willpower, my belief in myself, and the ability to be alone for more than an hour at a time.
Speaking of hanging out with yourself, I left the CC Club pretty early last night, biked home, and took a long bath. Then I finally hooked up my tv and dvd player and watched The Last Waltz from bed. God damn, that was awesome. So I had a pretty great date with myself. I also realized that I have a crush on Robbie Robertson and Rick Danko. And I LOVE Danko's voice. I had to watch the video to realize he sang 'It Makes No Difference,' which is an inherently sappy song, though it's so god damn sweet that you have to love it. I had a transcendental moment because of that song.
I put the record on, and wasn't really paying attention. I think I was sitting in the windowsill smoking and thinking to myself. Then I sort of spontaneously started crying, weeping actually, until I came to and realized it was the sound of the person's voice who was singing the song. That's when I fell in love with The Band.
Holy shit, what a bunch of amazing musicians. And they all have such incredibly diverse personalities, and each equally interesting. Also Van Morrison's performance is the bomb. He looks like this crazy, chubby little pip squeak next to Robertson and Danko, in a purple bodysuit thing with sparkles. Then he starts singing and you're like, 'Holy shit! Where is that coming from?' Then you realize it's fucking Van Morrison. Yow.
Also, I loved Ron Wood's appearance, along with Ringo Starr, for the finale. He looks like this big hawkish, cynical creep up there amisdt all love vibes being circulated by The Band and co. Very interesting.
Okay, enough ranting. Gotta get moving. Lots of social obligations to distract me from myself.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
NYE Snapshots
A man being stunned by the brilliance of my golden finery!
Daughters of the Sun covered Barrett-era Pink Floyd!
Vampire Hands covering Funhouse-era Stooges, with Nate Nelson of STNNG. I believe Colin has peanut butter on him.
Photos were taken by Jason.
2008
Oh my oh my here we are. It kept occurring to me last night that I never really conceived of the fact that I would be living in the 2000's. It really seems kind of funny, doesn't it?
The turning over of a new year always comes as a sort of suprise to me. Like, '08? Really? It sounds so foreign. But 8 is one of my lucky numbers, so hopefully the year ahead will be better than the year behind. Especially since I'm starting the year completely broke. Like Sheila said, it's only up from here!
Another thing I find funny is that the majority of people begin a new year intoxicated, and then hungover. Not that I'm an exception. It's just that if it really is a major event, worthy of parties and declarations and resolutions, shouldn't we embrace it with a clear and healthy mind?
I'm sure I'm just putting way too much thought into it. Most people have NYD off, and it's an excuse to party, so why not? I don't know, it's just made me kinda depressed to see people drinking around the holidays. Family Values 08!
My one resolution: QUIT SMOKING.
First thoughts of the day:
1) How did I get here? When did Dick leave? How did I get into my pajamas?
2) "Ooh, I hope Maureen left her pretty dresses here so I can try them all on!"
3) Want Cigarette!
But once I let the urge pass, and the hangover kick in, I don't really feel like smoking. AND I don't feel at all crabby or weird! Maybe this will just be a nice clean break. I'm really excited to start saving money, and for my lungs to be nice and fresh in the spring! I'm going to be a speed machine!
I am scared of getting fat though. Oh well, I suppose it's all just self control, which is something I'm learning.
So maybe 2008 will be the year of self-control and determination.
The turning over of a new year always comes as a sort of suprise to me. Like, '08? Really? It sounds so foreign. But 8 is one of my lucky numbers, so hopefully the year ahead will be better than the year behind. Especially since I'm starting the year completely broke. Like Sheila said, it's only up from here!
Another thing I find funny is that the majority of people begin a new year intoxicated, and then hungover. Not that I'm an exception. It's just that if it really is a major event, worthy of parties and declarations and resolutions, shouldn't we embrace it with a clear and healthy mind?
I'm sure I'm just putting way too much thought into it. Most people have NYD off, and it's an excuse to party, so why not? I don't know, it's just made me kinda depressed to see people drinking around the holidays. Family Values 08!
My one resolution: QUIT SMOKING.
First thoughts of the day:
1) How did I get here? When did Dick leave? How did I get into my pajamas?
2) "Ooh, I hope Maureen left her pretty dresses here so I can try them all on!"
3) Want Cigarette!
But once I let the urge pass, and the hangover kick in, I don't really feel like smoking. AND I don't feel at all crabby or weird! Maybe this will just be a nice clean break. I'm really excited to start saving money, and for my lungs to be nice and fresh in the spring! I'm going to be a speed machine!
I am scared of getting fat though. Oh well, I suppose it's all just self control, which is something I'm learning.
So maybe 2008 will be the year of self-control and determination.
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