The park is filled with the light that comes between summer and autumn - spilled gold, fading in and out over the grass. In the shadows, thoughts of the October ghosts are waiting. And a friend and I are sitting on the grass eating the last of the season's strawberries.
"Do you remember the abandoned theatre?" he says.
"Sometimes... on days like today the memory seems distant," I say. I look around the sun-filled park, the leaves clinging to light, and can't sense a trace of the musty darkness that lingers in the corners of my mind.
"I've been remembering it lately," he says.
I think about midnight, and lonely times. Sometimes the memory sneaks up on me - I find it at the bottom of a glass, under a couch cushion, in the flicker of a television turning off. But most of all, it's in the boredom of stale summer and too many nights when I can't sleep. The sudden memory is like a presence, a ghost of my past self reaching out to me.
"I think I've been remembering it, too," I say. "Somehow, after everything, it's still there."
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
another conversation with the phoenix
I still (want to) believe that I can get back all the things I've lost. Faith, memories, times, eras, love, seasons, mulberries, train tickets, words, stories, epiphanies.
The card catalogue of the abandoned theatre, reproduced in miniature and sitting in my palm.
You are all you think you've lost, and found, and scattered, and unraveled. It's all more connected than you think.
Why do I still feel like a rickety assortment of memories, aches, joys and hopes, carelessly stitched together? It all keeps coming unraveled and I have to work fast to fix it before it's gone.
Don't know you by now, it's never gone.
Why can't I see it?
A simple change of shape. Metamorphosis.
I'm not comfortable with change.
Maybe change isn't comfortable with itself. That's why its shape keeps shifting.
That makes me feel even more anxious.
It shouldn't.
Why not?
Why so?
Aren't you supposed to be wise? Why are you asking me questions?
Why are we conversing in questions? What, do you think I'm Socrates or something? I'm a bird, for goodness' sake.
Well, you're a mythological creature.
Some would say. And some would say I'm a barn swallow. What do they say you are? Or more importantly, what do you think you are?
I have no idea. That's the problem.
Shh. There is no problem in that.
The card catalogue of the abandoned theatre, reproduced in miniature and sitting in my palm.
You are all you think you've lost, and found, and scattered, and unraveled. It's all more connected than you think.
Why do I still feel like a rickety assortment of memories, aches, joys and hopes, carelessly stitched together? It all keeps coming unraveled and I have to work fast to fix it before it's gone.
Don't know you by now, it's never gone.
Why can't I see it?
A simple change of shape. Metamorphosis.
I'm not comfortable with change.
Maybe change isn't comfortable with itself. That's why its shape keeps shifting.
That makes me feel even more anxious.
It shouldn't.
Why not?
Why so?
Aren't you supposed to be wise? Why are you asking me questions?
Why are we conversing in questions? What, do you think I'm Socrates or something? I'm a bird, for goodness' sake.
Well, you're a mythological creature.
Some would say. And some would say I'm a barn swallow. What do they say you are? Or more importantly, what do you think you are?
I have no idea. That's the problem.
Shh. There is no problem in that.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
it's ok not to answer
when I don't know I think about
how all of life is longing -
for the moment, for a time, for that time
love and joy and leaf-piles
gingerbread and bendy straws and Halloween,
and sadly staring through the window sometimes think
all the longing does not amount to anything, does it,
a constant search without an answer, a
dusty ray of light that ends not quite on the floor.
When I was small and not so small and would
walk downstairs and my
mom would be talking to my aunt on the phone,
socks & sunlightpatterns on the cool wood floor -
(She would tell me as a child,
it's okay don't cry, the holidays will come
each year, forever)
It's not about amounting though I feel
in the hope-for-autumn air through the window
The longing - for a season, a name, a lamp-post,
greatcoated gentlemen, or snow
and kisses, and something
I saw once in a dream
Chasing the notion,
heart-thrillingly
how all of life is longing -
for the moment, for a time, for that time
love and joy and leaf-piles
gingerbread and bendy straws and Halloween,
and sadly staring through the window sometimes think
all the longing does not amount to anything, does it,
a constant search without an answer, a
dusty ray of light that ends not quite on the floor.
When I was small and not so small and would
walk downstairs and my
mom would be talking to my aunt on the phone,
socks & sunlightpatterns on the cool wood floor -
(She would tell me as a child,
it's okay don't cry, the holidays will come
each year, forever)
It's not about amounting though I feel
in the hope-for-autumn air through the window
The longing - for a season, a name, a lamp-post,
greatcoated gentlemen, or snow
and kisses, and something
I saw once in a dream
Chasing the notion,
heart-thrillingly
academic worries
Less than one month until school starts again! Yay. I'm excited but also nervous... I'm going to be a junior in college. That is quite scary. I feel worried because it seems like I have not made the most of the first two years of college. I haven't done anything!
It's like this... In high school there were always a fair few students going on to the Ivy League each year, and it seemed to me at least that there was this kind of ever-present pressure to Succeed, which mostly meant getting into a good college. Everyone was stressed about gathering extracurricular activities, leadership positions, and perfect grades, to put on college applications. Every time a student received an acceptance letter from a famous college, the jealousy, worry, feelings of inadequacy, etc., would brew.
So, I did a lot of extracurricular activities that I didn't care about and actually quite disliked, just to make my applications look good. Teachers wanted me to go to a fancy college because I got good grades, was known for original ideas & creativity and whatnot. And I got accepted to the fancy liberal arts schools that I had dreamed about. But then I did the "unthinkable" - I went to my safety school. I turned down the semi-impressive names and enrolled in the huge state university. I did it mostly because of financial issues - I didn't want to graduate in debt with tens of thousands of dollars in student loans, and I also didn't want to ask my parents to make huge sacrifices to send me to a fancy school. But the smaller, nagging reason why I made that choice was: I was just tired. I was so sick of the competition and the race to get ahead and Succeed.
I guess that's why, in the past two years of college, I haven't really done much. I've worked in my classes and gotten A's, won a prize in the department's writing contest, but other than that... eh. After high school I kind of just felt so worn-out that I didn't take on anything extra in college, anything interesting to put on a resume. I've just gone to school, written some things, studied, and worked a lot at my little job that has no relevance to anything academic.
Now the time's coming to start looking for internships, and I have a pathetic, boring resume! And I don't really know what to do now. I don't even know what activities and things are out there, and how one goes about participating in them. I'm afraid that a high GPA won't be enough and I am very worried that I am just too far behind.
It's like this... In high school there were always a fair few students going on to the Ivy League each year, and it seemed to me at least that there was this kind of ever-present pressure to Succeed, which mostly meant getting into a good college. Everyone was stressed about gathering extracurricular activities, leadership positions, and perfect grades, to put on college applications. Every time a student received an acceptance letter from a famous college, the jealousy, worry, feelings of inadequacy, etc., would brew.
So, I did a lot of extracurricular activities that I didn't care about and actually quite disliked, just to make my applications look good. Teachers wanted me to go to a fancy college because I got good grades, was known for original ideas & creativity and whatnot. And I got accepted to the fancy liberal arts schools that I had dreamed about. But then I did the "unthinkable" - I went to my safety school. I turned down the semi-impressive names and enrolled in the huge state university. I did it mostly because of financial issues - I didn't want to graduate in debt with tens of thousands of dollars in student loans, and I also didn't want to ask my parents to make huge sacrifices to send me to a fancy school. But the smaller, nagging reason why I made that choice was: I was just tired. I was so sick of the competition and the race to get ahead and Succeed.
I guess that's why, in the past two years of college, I haven't really done much. I've worked in my classes and gotten A's, won a prize in the department's writing contest, but other than that... eh. After high school I kind of just felt so worn-out that I didn't take on anything extra in college, anything interesting to put on a resume. I've just gone to school, written some things, studied, and worked a lot at my little job that has no relevance to anything academic.
Now the time's coming to start looking for internships, and I have a pathetic, boring resume! And I don't really know what to do now. I don't even know what activities and things are out there, and how one goes about participating in them. I'm afraid that a high GPA won't be enough and I am very worried that I am just too far behind.
Friday, August 8, 2008
rain rain
It's raining again and I looove it. I can't wait for autumn. Cold out all the time and redorangeyellow leaves and crisp air and wispy autumnly-blue sky and apple cider and sweaters and pumpkins and scarves and tights and boots... and SCHOOL. Yes. I can't wait to go back to school. I've always loved September. It seems like the real new year, much more than January or the springtime. September has my birthday, and back-to-school, and the start of my favorite season, so it is all about beginnings.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
waverly
It's not so long yet -
a bit more than fifty, sixty pages
three parts.
A trinity motif.
Religious undercurrents and scientific anxiety
Dreams, dreams, dreams.
Sandy air, stitched cushions, shortbread,
wispy-haired girls and ridgepole stories.
Eliza walks into the house,
sandy-footed tangle-haired
wanting something
she does not understand &
Her sister May is outside sweeping
the porch, for the sand
has blown
so far
this year
She spends a lot of time these days
looking at the pictures on the walls
and the sunlight on the sea -
She remembers a day,
remembers it in lemonyellow thought
although truth be told the light that day
was more like marigolds
Her heart beats a riot
She is home & so far from home
And she thinks of a place that she saw once
in a waking dream-
perched sandy-footed on the doorstep,
My whole heart longs for that place
a bit more than fifty, sixty pages
three parts.
A trinity motif.
Religious undercurrents and scientific anxiety
Dreams, dreams, dreams.
Sandy air, stitched cushions, shortbread,
wispy-haired girls and ridgepole stories.
Eliza walks into the house,
sandy-footed tangle-haired
wanting something
she does not understand &
Her sister May is outside sweeping
the porch, for the sand
has blown
so far
this year
She spends a lot of time these days
looking at the pictures on the walls
and the sunlight on the sea -
She remembers a day,
remembers it in lemonyellow thought
although truth be told the light that day
was more like marigolds
Her heart beats a riot
She is home & so far from home
And she thinks of a place that she saw once
in a waking dream-
perched sandy-footed on the doorstep,
My whole heart longs for that place
Sunday, August 3, 2008
traveling
Whenever I go away anywhere, I never get homesick. I never want to come home. Nikki, with whom I usually travel, does want to come home after a while. "I like to go places, have fun, but I also like to come home," she says. She talks about how she misses her boyfriend and her dogs. But me - when I go away to a place I love, I completely fall under the spell of the place. I'm captivated. The place has my heart, and leaving is like having to break off a new romance.
When I was in Québec, the thought of coming home seemed almost unbearable. I desperately didn't want to leave an astonishingly beautiful place and return to the old routine, the street I've lived on almost all my life, and the boredom of my job at home seemed too agonizing to think about. I dislike the predictability of being at home. Even though things can be difficult when away - a language barrier, not knowing your way around, etc. - I love that difficulty. I love the challenge of finding your way, literally and metaphorically, in a new place. For some reason, walking down the old cobblestone streets of Québec or sitting on the boardwalk overlooking the St. Lawrence River, I had a feeling of belonging more than I usually do at home.
I also love how, in a new place, you can be anyone. Just from seeing you for the first time, no one knows where you are from, what language you speak, what you've done, who you know, or anything. Leaving home, I step into a new world of possibility where anything can happen.
Every time I travel I realize again a need to move away, to another city or even another country. I have this desire for adventure that can only be satisfied by going to new places, not just for vacation, but really making a life somewhere new.
Yes, if I moved far away, I would miss my friends at home very much. But I think the best friends will always be friends in spite of distance. And having friends far away means more places to visit. ^^
When I was in Québec, the thought of coming home seemed almost unbearable. I desperately didn't want to leave an astonishingly beautiful place and return to the old routine, the street I've lived on almost all my life, and the boredom of my job at home seemed too agonizing to think about. I dislike the predictability of being at home. Even though things can be difficult when away - a language barrier, not knowing your way around, etc. - I love that difficulty. I love the challenge of finding your way, literally and metaphorically, in a new place. For some reason, walking down the old cobblestone streets of Québec or sitting on the boardwalk overlooking the St. Lawrence River, I had a feeling of belonging more than I usually do at home.
I also love how, in a new place, you can be anyone. Just from seeing you for the first time, no one knows where you are from, what language you speak, what you've done, who you know, or anything. Leaving home, I step into a new world of possibility where anything can happen.
Every time I travel I realize again a need to move away, to another city or even another country. I have this desire for adventure that can only be satisfied by going to new places, not just for vacation, but really making a life somewhere new.
Yes, if I moved far away, I would miss my friends at home very much. But I think the best friends will always be friends in spite of distance. And having friends far away means more places to visit. ^^
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