small things.
27.2.09
17.2.09
FINDING.
I think this may change completely with this new discovery.
The other day, I got a splinter in my eye and found out that my life is worth approximately as much as my high school education.
have a round of words (on the house):
The other day, I got a splinter in my eye and found out that my life is worth approximately as much as my high school education.
a moment: Catching one straggling piece of hair in front of my dresser mirror, looking at the colors (I forget they're there until I'm inevitably reminded by the person cutting my hair, this time, Leandra), cutting that small chunk (20 strands at the most), the day and afternoon seem like an entire solid in that one small motion.
have a round of words (on the house):
soundless skurried practice boyish inglese despect unexpected tunable oblation placing graveolent immerge ambidextral pauperis cobalt tantalization deportation
16.2.09
freizeitgeist
I guess I’ve been thinking about (free) time (of day, month, year, life) a lot recently.
Things never quite fall into place at the right time, and I’ve been doing too much waiting. Not every moment can be the set of a play: a flat surface, conveniently lit to imply the time and situation of your choosing.
That point made, though, there are some moments that feel this way.
An afternoon in Argentine, KS. Two women are planting a garden (salsa ingredients). It is the first day of spring-turning-to-summer and a Sunday afternoon. We’ve met an new/old friend just came from a courtyard next to a junkyard, eating soup. Two men (one of which is the new/old friend) are playing guitars on a bench (buckets of rain) while a neighbor hands a chunk of cedar over the fence because he knows how much the girls like the smell for their bonfires. Just inside is a whitewashed fresh house. Everyone has pantlegs rolled up. It is turning to evening and it is time to go back to Lawrence.
A morning in September. Daisy Hill won’t roll out of bed for at least another three hours. My roommate is at K-State visiting her boyfriend and my window is open. I’m sitting on the windowsill, listening to Nico, reading, one leg hanging off the ledge, half-written letter in my lap. Later that day (sunset), there are couches on the front porch and Tiny Dancer blares into the street.
Twilight into night. We’ve built the fire. The fish gets caught as the last remainder of light turns into stars. By the time it’s time to clean that fish, it’s full-on night.
It’s four a.m. and we know we should probably be going to sleep, but right now there’s just too much to be said.
Could these things happen at different times? Would they? Would you notice them?
Most of my favorite times are early mornings and late afternoons. Why would I feel any differently about these time and the activities that happen during them than I would about other times? Can we completely disconnect the rightness of a moment from the time in which it happens?
Time makes these things happen. Getting timing right is something that happens without your influence and out of your control, but is so key to the way it is happening. It changes the colors and the clothes and the music and the headaches and the sleepiness and the courage. Right now, things haven't quite been lining up. I think this is not Time's fault.
twitter postulate macilency endear grudgingly unphilosphical wigging oregano francophone cocotte upstarting doutel impetuosity battledore gascon fiddle whittle heterogeneity technicolor retaliative acquaintend abstinent background rosicrucian amplified curing wiggled bartering fedaiyin elmira amusement curios fideli wrongful shahbomin garish bloodletting curled override sespuipedalia executioner liveless listless archdeacon emotional fickle curist upwards curles fidget ranking curlew garlic suggests ellops elobey curley slubberdegullion cushat overseas sidesman endeth enclin buttress driest anteposition livelier befuddle passengers fibres shorebirds overseer coetanian fibril unavailing adjoining experimentation orismology arrangement garner enclos drifts garnet unstinted acquainting downie encode garoeb laertes
Things never quite fall into place at the right time, and I’ve been doing too much waiting. Not every moment can be the set of a play: a flat surface, conveniently lit to imply the time and situation of your choosing.
That point made, though, there are some moments that feel this way.
An afternoon in Argentine, KS. Two women are planting a garden (salsa ingredients). It is the first day of spring-turning-to-summer and a Sunday afternoon. We’ve met an new/old friend just came from a courtyard next to a junkyard, eating soup. Two men (one of which is the new/old friend) are playing guitars on a bench (buckets of rain) while a neighbor hands a chunk of cedar over the fence because he knows how much the girls like the smell for their bonfires. Just inside is a whitewashed fresh house. Everyone has pantlegs rolled up. It is turning to evening and it is time to go back to Lawrence.
A morning in September. Daisy Hill won’t roll out of bed for at least another three hours. My roommate is at K-State visiting her boyfriend and my window is open. I’m sitting on the windowsill, listening to Nico, reading, one leg hanging off the ledge, half-written letter in my lap. Later that day (sunset), there are couches on the front porch and Tiny Dancer blares into the street.
Twilight into night. We’ve built the fire. The fish gets caught as the last remainder of light turns into stars. By the time it’s time to clean that fish, it’s full-on night.
It’s four a.m. and we know we should probably be going to sleep, but right now there’s just too much to be said.
Could these things happen at different times? Would they? Would you notice them?
Most of my favorite times are early mornings and late afternoons. Why would I feel any differently about these time and the activities that happen during them than I would about other times? Can we completely disconnect the rightness of a moment from the time in which it happens?
Time makes these things happen. Getting timing right is something that happens without your influence and out of your control, but is so key to the way it is happening. It changes the colors and the clothes and the music and the headaches and the sleepiness and the courage. Right now, things haven't quite been lining up. I think this is not Time's fault.
p.s. dunno how, but I stumbled across a full page of words.
twitter postulate macilency endear grudgingly unphilosphical wigging oregano francophone cocotte upstarting doutel impetuosity battledore gascon fiddle whittle heterogeneity technicolor retaliative acquaintend abstinent background rosicrucian amplified curing wiggled bartering fedaiyin elmira amusement curios fideli wrongful shahbomin garish bloodletting curled override sespuipedalia executioner liveless listless archdeacon emotional fickle curist upwards curles fidget ranking curlew garlic suggests ellops elobey curley slubberdegullion cushat overseas sidesman endeth enclin buttress driest anteposition livelier befuddle passengers fibres shorebirds overseer coetanian fibril unavailing adjoining experimentation orismology arrangement garner enclos drifts garnet unstinted acquainting downie encode garoeb laertes
...way more where that came from.
that was just a taste.
secret message?
9.2.09
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)