haiku-a-day: group 3

Third installment. Pair with this song.

Sunday, May 21
What makes you yourself
Thought? Action? Emotion? Youth?
You: a performance

Monday, May 22
How consuming is
The profound weight of the heart
Blue when I miss you

Tuesday, May 23
Stepping out of doors
Into, beneath heavy trees
Enveloped yet free

Wednesday, May 24
I wish to be brave
Transcendent, confident, true
Cowardice remains

haiku-a-day: group 2

Second installment. Pair with this music video.

Wednesday, May 17
A keen companion
Doting and inquisitive
Ode to Winn Dixie

Thursday, May 18
Ripe-red raspberries
On a slow, hazy Thursday
Waiting for the rain

Friday, May 19 / Sylvia’s Fig Tree
To build your own world
Or to write of other’s worlds
Can you not do both?

Saturday, May 20
Watching movies with
Friends, at home, feels safe and pure
Remembrance of youth

haiku-a-day: group 1

Had an idea this weekend to write a haiku every day for the rest of May. I’ll post them here in fours.

Pair with this song.

Saturday, May 13
Idle on the porch
Legs outstretched, reading slowly
Solitude in May

Sunday, May 14
Iced tea, hydrangeas
On a linen tablecloth
Mother’s Day at home

Monday, May 15
Bright pink, as a mouth
Slurp the leftover juice quick
Afternoon grapefruit

Tuesday, May 16
Empty library
Trading theory for fiction
Suddenly summer

when i was a young girl

Growing up, I would go on long road trips with my family throughout the U.S. every summer. I’ve been to, or driven through, almost every state. Instead of our actual destination, which was typically some monument or park or landmark, I always looked forward to the days when we’d just drive. 8 hours on the road was a great day to me. Even more than reading or writing in my journal, my favorite thing to do on those endless drives was to look out the window and listen to my mp3 player. After a Drury or Holiday Inn continental breakfast, I would climb into my seat furthest from the sliding door, put in my earphones, and settle into my imagination. The passing landscapes colored my mood; I felt the safety and closeness of my family in the car with me, the exterior connection with culture through the music, the emotional thrill of letting my mind wander. Daydreaming: the essence of youth.

(I’ve been listening to Feist’s 2004 album Let It Die this morning, which was always one of my favorite albums to listen to on those long drives.)

fantasy girl

Dancing in the cold room
Eyelids heavy to
Focus on the sounds, the taste
Of thick, foamy beer; the feeling
Of you beyond yourself

You were craving newness
Lightness and sensuality
Not the kind that leaves you doubtful
And aching
But the kind that stimulates you
To write again

To create again
Delectable fantasies, connect again
With the infinite spirit
Of your imagination; with the spontaneity
Of your youth, your playfulness
Your favorite form of you

musings: january 2017

  • One must get out into society by oneself—to experience the ebb and flow of people unrelated to oneself, without the condition of developing a familial or social relationship.
  • Sometimes I catch myself, in the midst of a conversation, simply not absorbing entire sentences. This is the ego. I am privileging the potential “greatness” of my ensuing response instead of digesting and truly considering the words of the other before speaking next.
  • Boyish charm and instability: we’re all drawn to it, yet it doesn’t fulfill one. Not genuinely.
  • You must create your own reality. Do not let your reality create you.
  • The difficulty of altering ingrained neural pathways rests in the fact that you are trying to fix the machine by using the machine.
  • The worth of the self will never change due to the circumstances surrounding the self. It is at once fixed and omnipresent. It exists in every person. It pervades even as we commit the severest sins. It will never diminish. It will never grow. It is contained within us, yet it is everywhere within us. What will change—what does change—is our perception of this worth, our recognition of this worth. We can choose to reproach it. We can choose to honor it. Thou mayest.
  • I want to learn how to play the electric guitar.

9.27.16 – evening

Black night, crisp air. Sharp turn, speeding fast on my newly-aired tires; legs stretched after pique turns and rond de jamb, felt strong. Anticipation—how will the night go? An unexpected outing. Small group, faces familiar and unfamiliar. From afar the scene akin to a Parisian street corner: deep opaque shadows of human forms, half-illuminated by the light of the wine bar inside. Quiet talk, undercurrent of enlightened enthusiasm detectable. Smooth transition into group after pursuing a glass of wine. Intimate bar: warm-yellow light, deep red walls, open-faced bartender with simple yet striking features (a beauty more comforting than intimidating), strum of classical guitar swirling about as steam from a pot of tea.

Wine acquired, back to the night. The girl to my left wide-eyed, eloquent, calm. Posture emanating solid sense of self, lacked sting of conceit. Practiced conversationalist, hopeful in outlook if a bit naïve. D. to my right unmoody and fresh, patient. Talk became less partitioned, more circular as the night aged. How remarkable the night felt, we all agreed. My proposed guessing-game of temperature to encourage playfulness, spontaneity. Past histories, secret communication paths noticed—took note to explore later.

The wide-eyed girl announced to the group a supreme player had begun, that we should all come in to listen. She commands because she is sure of being followed. True confidence or the spirit of the wine?  To interior warmth—to listen, not to speak. The reverent stillness of the room: opposite me four men in separate chairs, D. in front, hunched. And the man with the classical guitar, who closed his eyes as he played expertly, almost flawlessly, with great emotion and an evident fervor for life. Such zeal alarming at first, almost off-putting: I an intrusion, he the practiced, all-knowing displayer of sentiment. Across me a spectacle of those who truly listen and admire. Their esteem a gateway to judgment-less viewing. And then the bloom of the music.

Second glass, time slows: to the night again as the stirrings of goodbye commence. Talk of capitals, culture of distant lands and the need for knowing more facts. The unease of parting ways, where to go? What to do? More wine for later? The address, what’s the address? I back home to work and responsibility and a pup in need of company. To the softness of clean sheets, the familiarity of sleeping alone after the novelty of an evening unfamiliar.