Millenium theatre

Raised eyebrow.

"What was it that you said that you think you know?"

Ak.

comme des enfants

You see, she was pulling up these beige coloured stockings over her stocky knees in the blunt light of the midday and it was falling directly on her calves, colouring them like athletes have.  A phone rang in the other room, maybe the kitchen, while her fingers were tracing the little hairs on her leg up to her thighs like a crisscrossed, missmatched highway of skin.  She was lost in the silkiness of the fabric, or nylon, or plastic or whatever it was she was stretching over these limbs of hers.  It was like butter, but better.

She looked up over her left shoulder when she heard a zipper and a belt buckle jangling near where the phone continued its neverending ring.  Her hair caught itself on the muscles of her back and she straightened from being bent at the middle and caught a glance of herself in the dark mirror.  She liked this darker colour to her hair that she recently put in.  It suited her dark eyes and she liked having the camouflage available in case the opportunity ever came.  Plus, red lipstick was a solid fight with her eyes now, not just an overpowering lover.

"Salaam, chetori baba?"

Murmur, she remembered a book by Munsch or someone that has something to do with murmuring, how silky it was. Murmur murmur.

-Ak.

I guess I'll try in the decline

Sometimes watching tv shows makes me happier and sometimes it just makes me low. :(  I mean, I really love this tv show called Californication though, there's a lot more rawness in it than say, Gossip Girl.  In fact, after being away from my computer for so long and being forced to not watch this shit, I feel like I don't even want to anymore.  Maybe I will do catch up sessions during the winter break whilst studying for exams?  I believe so.  Currently, I am only relying upon: Grey's Anatomy, Californication, The Office, and How I Met Your Mother (3 of which are just half hour episodes, so that like, barely counts).  Also maybe 90210, maybe.

I wonder why writing this  is so much easier than writing essays.  I'm writing one about an inter-chapter in Hemingway's In Our Time.  The writing itself is fantastic, it's just finding the meaning behind it that can be a little bit tricky.

I'm going to type it out here for your reading pleasure, because I think it's gorgeous and unconventional and so so strong.

Chapter V:

"They shot the six cabinet ministers at half-past six in the morning against the wall of a hospital.  There were pools of water in the courtyard.  There were wet dead leaves on the paving of the courtyard.  It rained hard.  All the shutters of the hospital were nailed shut.  One of the ministers was sick with typhoid.  Two soldiers carried him downstairs and out into the rain.  They tried to hold him up against the wall but he sat down in a puddle of water.  The other five stood very quietly against the wall.  Finally the officer told the soldiers it was no good trying to make him stand up.  When they fired the first volley he was sitting down in the water with his head on his knees."


Isn't that stunning?  I just wish I knew what it meant.  Maybe there's something there about the water, about typhoid.  The biggest thing I got was the duality of things: ministers vs. hostages, hospitals vs. execution grounds, soldiers vs. supporters.  Then there's an obvious softening in tone.  And also the repetition of the courtyard - the fenced in-ness of it all.  The rain?  Sitting in it?  All of the things we can't escape from in war.  Some of us can handle it, and some of us revert to our other personas.  It's all very hard to trace into a single point.

Anyway, I also read about Olenka & the Autumn Lovers on blogTO and myspaced them - just up my alley! Very Beirut-y with Eastern European influences + folkness.  I enjoy. (Also the guitar here is great!)  [Which reminds me, my guitar teacher quit the school I was at and I am at a loss of what to do since I don't like any other people there.  Do I leave the school? I would love to take private lessons with him.  I feel bad for my parents but it's really the school the pulled the rug out from under me.  Kind of gay if you ask me, but more on this next time.]

And now, off to trace all of this to a single point.

Ciao. Ak.

We are drifting away, farther every day

Soon we'll have nothing to say
We'll be too far away..

It's so conventional. So to the point.  Convention - say what you mean and mean what you say.  Dr Seuss even got it:  "Don't mind the matter because those that matter don't mind."

But they do. 

I have so much to do, and everything is unraveling. Ball of string and a kitten.  That's my life right now.  Am I the kitten?  Do I unravel? Am I the unraveler or the unravelee?  Sane/insane - good/evil.  We are all a little bit of all of it.  If it is matter, we are matter.  We are string.  We tumble.  We are colours.  We are soft and used for bondage.  We create.  We keep warm.  We are useless in all aspects.

One thing out of context can create entire worlds.  Words.  Universes crumbling under the weight of a molecule.. collapsing into themselves, turned inside out and vulnerable like skin.  Nothing you can do, nothing you can change.  What is the point of it all?

I love with the tips of my fingers, my eyes and my stomach.  I criticize with my tongue and my wrists and ankles.  I balance out.  Do I? I try. Nothing you can do, nothing you can change.  "Just leave me alone, shut up."

"Just leave me alone, shut up."

"Would you do this to anybody else?"

Door slams echoing across the mountains of the city.

Cab rides.

"Just leave me alone, shut up."

I too hold questions in my palms when they cup under my belly.  Water hurling down my breasts, my chest, my ribs like spears with aims.  My palms holding questions like encyclopedias, palm facing out, the triplet, mind body spirit, mind body spirit, exhale.

Stretch.  This is all a stretch at fitting into convention.  What do we try to do when we connect with other human beings? Do we list things that are similar? What is the basis of relation to one another?  What is the foundation of our want to know each other?  Where does the fascination come from?  What drives it? How do we relate?  For what purpose?  Where and in what does it aid us?  Where and in what does it hurt us?

The next week is going to be depressing, of course.  It's like a six month cycle.  That's not far enough apart for me.  Or maybe birthdays bring this about - that's something to look into.

"Just leave me alone, shut up."

"I am showing you I love you, what are you doing?  What are you doing?"




I am leaving.  Are you happy now? 

Does this make you feel better?

Is this what you wanted?  Because if it's not, explain to me.  I am not the victim but I am not stupid either.  And I am not as patient as you would have me prove.  I am not this patient and it is barely even ragged anymore.  Presentable.  Logical.  Safe. 

There are very little things off about you.  There are bigger things off about me.  But I am not going to be the martyr here.

I want to be the evangelist.  Publisher of good tidings.  I want to be able to be what I represent but sometimes I am not.  I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.

How is this working? Is this a working relationship?

Palms are just flooded with it.

When do you know to end something?

Ciao. Ak.