Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Tonight, musical whimsy. Staying up to work, and taking dancing breaks in between.

Sam Smith



Queen B.



never drop that alcohol!
movement and breath,
caramelizing and red wine and Puerto Rico and Dickens and Herbie Hancock and other such activities. 

gratitude before the day dedicated to it. 



There is risk in connection 

Monday, November 24, 2014

notes from the weekend.

---

12 string guitars and music becoming faith itself, becoming a dimension we could stand on, and oxygen we could breathe. (more on this later)

kendrick lamar on the subway and secret smiles. tap dancers and hope.

cold hands, shaking in his arms, or maybe i was just shivering at the smell of cigarettes between lips.
throwing credit cards in the air, birthdays being the excuse.

real targets don't exist, but hearts do. so aim there, please.

deepest chocolate cake, coconut milk, claiming you don't like it but eating it anyway
and memorizing rap lyrics on the long way home.
dancing downstairs in restaurant kitchens (dear health inspectors, grade THIS).
all black everything.

creme brulee in white paper bags, plastic spoons.
sneaking bites of butternut squash straight out of the oven.
racks on racks on racks
burning my mouth,
it's worth it anyway.

the winter brings a deep feeling of isolation, even when i'm surrounded by people.
solitary
solitude
solidify
sojourn
and you are not around to hold me when the cold settles on my skin

i talk about brass and woodwind
we make jokes about things we can blow on.
lately i haven't been able to breathe enough to blow.
carry on.

the bartender breaks a glass while making the drink he bragged about. the air smells like orange slices and white teeth.

i worry about him touching my back when it is moist with the sweat from running to get to where he is. to get there faster. to see the smile in his eyes faster. life is too short to walk.

"i'm nervous to dance with someone who dances so well."
"how do you know i dance?"
"i've never seen you walk anywhere. you never walk, you dance across the room and down sidewalks."

late night concerts and hands on waists. beer spilled on my jeans. he bought us a round to apologize.
the crowd throbbed and smiled together.
long train rides. legs on legs on legs. looking into eyes. breaking rules.

arguing about the existence of wild turkeys in Taiwan.
time is relative. 
early morning runs. long, lazy afternoons. looking in the direction of the world where i know you may be. wondering if you see me too.

love as a dimension
love transcending time and space
perhaps the past is a canyon you can walk into.

i cannot believe in love. i need to walk farther into the canyon to find it again.


Do not go gentle into that good night






Wednesday, November 19, 2014

“The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know. No more time, no more potential. The privilege of ruling things out. Finishing. Knowing I’m finished. And knowing that time will go on without me.

Often I believe I’m working toward a result, but always, once I reach the result, I realize that all the pleasure was in planning and executing the path to it.
It comforts me that endings are thus formally unappealing to me — that more than beginning or ending, I enjoy continuing.”

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Oh geez. I found my Christmas playlist  from last year already.
Today, the cold came. Though it did so with warning and fanfare, still I found myself unprepared.
I could not feel my lips.

yet, I smiled anyway.

J instructed me on the difference between chives and jiu cai. 
We sampled apple cider home-brewed with cloves. And pondered the sugar content.

Then, R came over and we roasted some acorn squash together.
Then he casually sharpened my knife with the bottom of a ceramic bowl.
It was sexy.

He told me I am one of the most deceptively guarded people he knows. I slowly realized that perhaps this is true.
It's been a while since my face has appeared here, and I don't let anyone see my room.
I pretend my heart is a fortress and stand forlornly wondering what to do when someone tries to scale its walls.
Mostly, I adore mystery, so perhaps I preserve it in myself.

I lost all of my spices and my teapot and tea leaves during the last move, but I vowed to rebuild my collection.

"The lack of height made me kiss your neck."

Recently, I've been listening to many songs about falling asleep- coincidentally during a time when I find it impossible to do just that.


- san francisco (by om). my quiet little version of lost in translation. 

Only now, after midnight, do I find peace to sit down and write.
Only now, after midnight, do I feel warm.

Muriel Rukeyser, on the root of our resistance to poetry

“However confused the scene of our life appears, however torn we may be who now do face that scene, it can be faced, and we can go on to be whole.”


One sweltering New York afternoon some years ago, I was sitting across from a dear friend several decades my senior as I mentioned, with the matter-of-factly, arrogant naivetĂ© of someone who does that sort of thing, that I didn’t care for poetry. Without missing a beat, she began reciting e.e. cummings in the middle of that bustling Manhattan cafĂ©. And just like that, everything changed — this was the beginning.

But even though Joseph Brodsky believed that poetry is the key to developing our taste in culture and James Dickey wrote that it “makes possible the deepest kind of personal possession of the world,” my reaction that summer Tuesday was far from uncommon — as a society, we seem to harbor a strange resistance to poetry, a stubborn refusal to recognize that it contains what Wordsworth called “the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge.”

It’s a resistance that “has the qualities of fear.” So argues the magnificent Muriel Rukeyser in the 1949 treasure The Life of Poetry (public library) — a wise and wonderful exploration of all the ways in which we keep ourselves from the gift of an art so elemental yet so transcendent, so infinitely soul-stretching, so capable of Truth.




- via brainpickings

Monday, November 17, 2014

"The journey is my home." - Muriel Rukeyser
Notes to remember by- the epic NYC food and drink adventures of me and ML:

- Random Japanese Curry that made the top of his head sweat (Curry-Ya)
- Japanese barbecue (Gyu-Kaku)
- David Chang's culinary greatness. Twice so far. (Momofuku Noodle Bar)
- Flushing Dim Sum with the best name (Asian Jewels)
- Pretty amazing pate with figs. Dim light, wine, pear salads, flickering candles. (YN)
- My favorite neighborhood speakeasy cocktail bar (Dutch Kills)
- My favorite neighborhood restaurant all around-  with hands down the best servers (none of whom are native New Yorkers) (LIC Market)
- Mediocre Midtown tanmen where tipping is not mandatory (Riki)
- French food paired with the best wine. Escargot and amazing bread. (Amelie)
- Charcuterie, bourbon, live jazz. and hush-hush rendezvous. (Analogue)
- No one can officially say they reside in NYC without having tried these. (Doughnut Plant)
- Overrated but immensely popular, partially due to proximity to the Highline. (Cookshop)
- Of course, my very own. (Ellary's Greens)