12.24.2008

Buon Natale


It's great to have the family over the pond for Christmas. We're gathering at Milan this year. Ma enjoys the presepi and the markets, while Pa opts for a nice evening at La Scala and espresso at 2 am. From my family to yours, have a wonderful holiday season.

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12.17.2008

Succubae


I opened my door to him wiping his rain-soaked glasses on his cravat. His hair, damp and slick, swept over his temples like wings.

How beautiful he is. And how lost.

A smile cuts across his lips. "I came halfway 'round the world hoping you'd ached for me a little."

When I kiss him, an uncontained ferocity struggles out of me, pushing him up against the wall. I imagine the quiet shift of bones against the unrelenting sharp edges of unfinished brick. His pulse beats like quicksilver, and I don't miss how he shudders, just a little, when I press tightly against him, scraping my teeth on the sensitive skin over his jugular. I'm wrapped up in the tempo of his blood flowing, the pleasurepain osmosing through flesh. I want to see him shatter and pierce my hands on the splintered shards. I want my name smeared carmine-ripe on his mouth.

I've always been warned of men like him - the ones that drive you mad, suck you dry, steal your breath, twist you up beautifully until you're no longer a lily-white plane of smooth girl-flesh. He's the stuff of fractured fairytales, and at that moment I wasn't springtime and candy and the girl you'd take home to mother. I fucking love it, love him. He understands me, perhaps.

I take what I want, just as he'd always wanted me to.

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12.09.2008

Illumination

La Tour looks particularly lovely on winter evenings...

Nous sommes toute la vie

Et nous ne savons pas ce que c'est que l'amour

Et nous ne savons pas ce que c'est que la vie





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12.02.2008

Fluff and fold, buddy...

This song somehow reminds me of you. Happy birthday, honey.

Just once in his life a man has his time and my time is now, I'm coming alive...



Gonna be your man in motion, all I need is a pair of wheels. Take me where my future's lyin'...

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12.01.2008

Cartas Apasionadas

"You will be called AUXOCHROMOS, he who attracts color. I am CHROMOPHOROS, she who gives color. You are all the combinations of numbers. You are life."


Diego.

Nothing compares to your hands, nothing compares to your gold-green eyes. My body fills up with you for days and days, you are the mirror of night, the violent flash of lightning, the Earth's humidity. All my joy is in feeling life flow from your spring-flower, filling all the paths of my nerves, which are your own.

Truth is, so great, that I wouldn’t like to speak, or sleep, or love. To feel myself trapped, with no fear of blood, outside time and magic, within your own fear, and your anguish, and within the very beating of your heart. All this madness if I asked it of you, I know, in your silence, there would be only confusion. I ask you for violence, in the nonsense, and you, you give me grace, your light and your warmth.

My blood is the miracle that travels through the veins of the air, from my heart to yours...

F.


Letter excerpts from Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera. Translated.
Photo -
Frida Kahlo. Diego in my thoughts, 1943.
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11.20.2008

Tongue in Cheek



Nasrudin was talking to a friend, who asked him:

‘Have you never considered getting married, Mullah?’

‘I have,’ replied Nasrudin. ‘In my youth, I resolved to find the perfect woman. I crossed the desert and reached Damascus, and I met a lovely, very spiritual woman, but she knew nothing of the world. I continued my journey and went to Isfahan; there I met a woman who knew both the spiritual and the material world, but she was not pretty. Then I decided to go to Cairo, where I dined in the house of a beautiful woman, who was both religious and a connoisseur of material reality.’

‘Why didn’t you marry her, then?’

‘Alas, my friend, she was looking for the perfect man.’

~ Paulo Coelho


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11.19.2008

Plastered

This layout is dope ( image courtesy of newyorksocialdiary.com)


I'm in the grip of a slightly manic antiquing bender since I espied a lovely old Meissen porcelain plaque with a pastoral theme in one of the shops down at St. Ouen. I've been tacking these can't-eat-out-of-'em plates in soft blue and white over my bed in a passably artful manner since I don't have a headboard.


Over the past few weeks when I'd actually had the time to stay in I've been channeling my inner Roehm for French country-luxe-bohemian ( but I might just end up with a Kemble Nu Yawk boutique hotel room-wannabe instead ).

The last time CJ came to visit, he'd warned me not to overdose on toile. "You want to be lush, not fussy," he remarked as he tsk-tsked over my wallpaper and fabric choices. He educated me a bit about xeriscaping over lunch, then helped me pick out lavender and water globes for my window box. That evening, he went out and bought some light fixtures for the "dead spaces" in the great room of my apartment, and he promptly installed them before dinner with borrowed tools from my neighbor. I'm a lucky, lucky girl :D

Sometimes I wonder about my neighbors, whose tolerance I believe is verging on indulgence over my frenzied repositioning of stuff right and left like a bitch with a chip. I try to make it up to them once in a while, hosting the occasional get-together. A recent event was the gout-inducing brandy and Truffaut movie night masterminded by film buff Colbert. Following my introduction to French New Wave, Colbert toasted my design efforts with his customary sageness: "There are elements in a space, in a plot, or in a sequence that never attract much attention to themselves, but which for that reason catches the eye so amazingly. Sometimes you have to let some things remain just so to bring out their true aesthetic virtue."

I think what he really meant was: "Your sofa is indeed hideous but my poor nerves would prefer that you don't drag it scraping and keening all over your apartment."

Man. I still have a long way to go.


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11.04.2008

The Audacity of Hope

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

photo credit: www.patrickmoberg.com


And to all those who have wondered if America’s beacon still burns as bright – tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.



Yes We Can...may God Bless the United States of America.*



Congratulations, sir.


*Read the rest of Barack Obama's speech

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11.01.2008

Menagerie

We dream of hope. We dream of change. Of fire, of love, of death. And then it happens. The dream becomes real.

The huge elephant in the room that had eyed me balefully for the past several months suddenly went on the attack last night.

It jumped over the couch, sat on me and wouldn't let me breathe.

"Address me," it said.

"I can't," I responded.

"Then I'll keep haunting you."

Suddenly, the change in your life that should have been wonderful, comes as a betrayal. It may seem cruel, but the goal is nothing short of self-preservation. Survival.

I gestured around the room. There was an panda perched on the bookcase, an anteater curiously nosing a box of granola on the coffee table, and a Bengal tiger stalking the length of the kitchen.

"Suit yourself."

Evolution is an imperfect, and often violent process.The question of good and evil, reduced to one simple choice: Survive? Or perish? Where do we run, when things we believe in vanish before our eyes?

The most important question of all: Can we ever change what we really are?



quotes courtesy of Mohinder Suresh (Heroes)


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10.21.2008

Shameless fantasizing

Costume season is here again. This year, I think I want to dress up as Aminta, the gypsy maiden in Don Juan Triumphant.


You have brought me / to that moment / where words run dry / to that moment / where speech disappears / into silence / silence . . .



The tableaux won't be complete without the masked Don
.

You have come here / in pursuit of your deepest urge / in pursuit of that wish / which till now / has been silent / silent . . .




Together we'll stage our version of a "passion-play" :)





Past all thought of "if" or "when" / no use resisting: abandon thought / and let the dream descend





When will the blood / begin to race / the sleeping bud / burst into bloom? / When will the flames at last
consume us?








Past the point of no return / the final threshold / the bridge is crossed / so stand and watch it burn...










Aaarrrghh...I've been strolling past the Palais Garnier one too many times this week. Maybe I should so something about this *fantasy* by ------ --- ---- ------ -- -- this weekend ;)


images: WB and ALW
lyrics: ALW


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10.19.2008

Letters...


...written at different points in my life (and never sent)


Dear D___n,

Remember how the warm Carribean sun mixed with the weight of the air, seeping through the cotton? It's the same heat that stretched and ripened those dirt roads. I remember telling you that I'm not inexhaustible and I'll run out. I was talking like a shell of myself. My soul was too engrossed with quenching itself in the blue-green waters.

Dear B___a,

Please keep that dress for me. I know that once in a while you take it out to admire the intricate lacework and meticulous embroidery contrasted with the hand-shredded silk. Every detail of that dress sits heavy on my heart, yet I cannot get rid of it. Physically, it fits well. Emotionally, I still need to grow into it.

Dear N___i,

The trip to Abu Simbel was incredible. I remember snacking on kofta and complaining that camels smelled of lead and moldy hay. I stood in awe of the Sun Temple and declared ,"Rameses is a god." Then I caught sight of Nefertari's temple of Hathor and sighed, "He is also a man."

Dear M___k,

For years I've been marooned to an abstract level of you. I realize now that I'm not an armchair shrink. I'm really sorry.

Dear J__g__r,

I don't believe in destiny. However, if destiny decides to come for me, I'd ride its death clap for all it's worth. I'd careen past a ruptured sky, picking up signs of my birthright along the way. And maybe, just maybe, I'd fall off and land in an unceremonious heap at your feet ( I'd love it if you'd at least help me up. )

Dear F.M.,

You introduced me to your patrons as your Francoise. But Francoise left Pablo too, didn't she?

Dear K____na,

When I met you in Darjeeling, I was only half of myself. I didn't care to talk about it, but something terrible happened in my life. There were days when it just hurt to wake up and fit in with the rest of the world. At first I thought it was funny, to have this world run by people who are half-whole. But there are a lot of them among us, you know, so beautiful and yet so broken inside. I've been wounded in a lot of ways that for a time I took care to look away from my scars, telling everyone else I'm okay, don't stare at me too much, there's nothing to see. I was learning to survive, and the whole process wasn't pretty. I didn't call or write home for a long time. I guess I was too busy refashioning myself into someone I could live with. I came to get back some of the meaning that awful experience took from me. I drew near the Himalayas to recall something I've forgotten. To be happy. To believe in myself again. To be free. To love.

And how I loved you. Hai pighla shaam ke sooraj ka sona, magar main sirf tumko dekhta hoon - hamein jab se mohabbat ho gayi hai.

R_____ha


Dear A____c,

...I think you do. It just takes time to realize it. You see, what you're looking for somehow you already know. The revelation could come to you in a burst of fireworks, a full orchestra. Or it could be quiet. I don't remember having any kind of special epiphany. For a while I lived my life without context, just getting by. But one day, I woke up and just felt happy. And some kind of sad. But overall I felt alive. Undoubtedly alive.

All of us have some kind of wilderness. Allow this place you're in now to convince you (or if you can take a bit of prurience, to strip you raw.) It's not such a bad thing.

Dear T___d,

I don't need saving. I don't want you to take the pain away. It's the only thing that's truly mine. Dreams must be worked for, earned through sweat and tears. That's why they're so precious. I'm never one to hold my dreams so cheaply. The way to achieving them is harsh and hard, but I won't be cheated of it. Not even by you.

Dear ________,

For a good number of reasons - what the hell does that mean? I only want you. There's nothing I would not give you. Nothing I would not do.














photo credit: E. Wilman
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10.10.2008

Rock from a hard place

Time to rock this baby


" -- I'm going to let you set the agenda." Save for these last few lines, the whole conversation sailed right over my head.


"You're putting me in charge?!"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?"

"I...uh..."

"You're welcome."

I just wanna run screaming from the room. I've just been given the license to be a tyrant.

You're just a two-bit chorus girl who got lucky.

This two-bit chorus girl didn't do too bad, after all :)



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10.07.2008

Intermezzo



"Why do you think most love stories have happy endings?"

"Because most people prefer happy endings at all costs."

"Life isn't like that."

"No, but a good love story deals with that fact. It teaches one to survive - and perhaps, hope."

Are we learning from the stories we tell each other? Our discussions of philosophy, art, our past...and how the simplest things are changed when shaded by your presence?

"What it really all comes down to," he continued, a trifle sardonically, "is that a man cannot help what he does when bespelled by a woman."

I smiled. Yes, I think we are.

**********

"So tell me how you got that ridiculous nickname."

"It's a long and boring story," he replied wryly.

"Please. You know I like stories."

"I don't think now is the time for stories." The firelight caught the predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Oh." I tried to sound exasperated and failed. "Well, later then."

"Much later."

**********

I traced his every feature, taking my time, memorizing the details, slowly and gently. The darkness deepened and the air hummed. The night stood still, only complete awareness remaining.

On the other hand, he was learning about me too.

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10.05.2008

Black



Shadows we cast on the ground

Never abandons us like the sun

Sometimes darkness makes us see

The deeper things that can't be shown

Light can bend and can deceive

Love is to trust when you do not know

If love is everything, let me just mix it all in

Black is the color of our love



Partial lyrics from The Key of E by R.A.L., performed live with NSBY Warehouse at M.A.S. near Amsterdam, September 13, 2008.


For the gentleman who loves me in midnight blue. I've always loved seeing you in black.


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10.02.2008

Muy cerca...


At first I did it out of defiance, but as the evening wore on, I danced for the joy of it.

The music ended abruptly. After a long moment his hold loosened. He drew back slowly, cheek resting against my own.

“Thank you,” he said.

I couldn't stop smiling. An odd exuberance of something beautiful and newly-found had overtaken
any form of speech.

"Rachel," he urged quietly."Let's go. Your flight to Paris leaves in two hours."

Sigh. Hot damn. Recalling that evening just reduced me to into a hormonal mess. I don't get many chances to be sentimental in a hard-nosed and itinerant business, so tonight I've decided to kick things up a notch and watch "Enchanted"(!) So break out the popcorn and call me Emo :)

Sigh. They may share the same build and (gasp!) hairstyle, but other than that, McDreamy's got nothing on him :P


You’re in my arms / And all the world is calm /The music playing on for only two / So close together / And when I’m with you /So close to feeling alive / A life goes by / Romantic dreams will stop /So I bid mine goodbye and never knew /So close was waiting, waiting here with you /And now forever I know / All that I wanted to hold you / So close / So close to reaching that famous happy end / Almost believing this was not pretend / And now you’re beside me and look how far we’ve come / So far we are so close / How could I face the faceless days / If I should lose you now? / We’re so close / To reaching that famous happy end / And almost believing this was not pretend / Let’s go on dreaming for we know we are / So close /So close /And still so far...



...y a la vez muy lejos

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10.01.2008

Pale moon night at the Alpha



"I met you all the way out here," I said, grinning. "What more do you want from me?"

I will be the answer
At the end of the line

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "A dance."

While you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty

"I'm sorry? You want to dance with me here, with all these people --"

His eyes darkened. "A dance, that's all. I've always loved dancing with you."

I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance
If you can't look down

"That's sweet, but I don't think I will." I gave him an awkward smile. "But don't think I'll forget your invitation."

"I'm afraid I must insist," he said, his gaze never leaving mine. "Who knows when I'd see you again?"

If it takes my whole life
I won't break, I won't bend

I was faintly aware of the music and my growing sense of embarrassment. "Another time."

Cast me gently
Into morning
For the night has been unkind

"Rachel." He took my hand, turned it over, and started tracing the veins along my wrist. "One dance."

Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life

I licked suddenly dry lips. "Okay," I replied quietly. "One dance."

When the stars have all gone out
You'll still be burning so bright

He laughed low in his throat. "That's my girl."

It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end




Answer by Sarah McLachlan

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Fear and Loathing in DC




( I learn every moment, the tiny shifts and variances, until my strikes become more refined. Precision is all, even in the absence of victory. Oh, and I hope this is the last time I ever talk about the vagaries of my job...)


Turning and turning in the widening gyre


The falcon cannot hear the falconer;


We adjusted our coats as the cold night air hit our faces.

He lit a cigarette, chuckling under his breath. "How the mighty have fallen."

"A den of wolves, more like." I said through gritted teeth, unable to contain my irritation.

"You did well in there, kid. Every one of those mannequins was pretty much brain dead. Before long they'll start pointing fingers at each other."

"Why didn't you send in Serge? Or Tova?"

He took a deep drag. "Because you're the most ruthless negotiator I got. You can knock it out of the park when it matters."

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,


The accolade stung, though I wasn't not exactly sure why. "Is that right? Because it seemed that they already knew how things were going to play out even before we stepped in --"

"You got the point across. You made sense. I'm not complaining here, am I?"
He bristled visibly, his jaw working.

"I'm telling you, something is off. I'm either getting strung up or stonewalled! Why didn't you let me go through the whole set?"

He looked away. "Now's not the time to ask those questions."

"I could have --"

"The blueprints are still yours. If that's not respect I don't know what is. But it's not enough to save the fucking world," he cut me off in tone that implied the discussion was over.

My shoulders slumped. I felt so tired all of a sudden. All I could think of was getting the heck out of there.

The limousine pulled up to the curb. "It's been a long day," I sighed. "I'll see you in Paris on Monday."

"Wednesday. Or not even then. I have to stay here until the dust settles on this historic mess."

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed

...a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight...


I threw my bag into the backseat with a little more force than necessary. "Right. Well, good night sir. I have a flight to catch."

His brow furrowed. "Don't you want to get some sleep tonight? Your room's paid up till noon tomorrow."

"Not really. I have to get going."

"Lee."

"Yes, sir?"

"You could've refused this assignment."

I shrugged. "I'm never one to dance away from the blade."

He smiled. Lit another cigarette. "Welcome to the game. Good night."


And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?*






*The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats

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9.23.2008

Connecting flights



I did it. I wrote and recorded a song. I feel like some sort of fever's broken.

"You have professional singing experience, yes?"

"No."

Throat clearing.

"You want to be famous, yes?"

"With an insane amount of luck,maybe. No, I actually just want to sing this stuff I wrote. You listen and see if I'm good enough for you. Otherwise thank you and I'll be on my way."

"What is your song about?"

"Airplanes."

"Airplanes."

"And airports and skylines and postcards."

More throat clearing.

Then it happened. "OK."

So that's how I got my start.

It was an awesome experience. I'm always gonna love Amsterdam for giving me a chance. Goed bezig mannen!

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9.20.2008

Abyss

Look into it too closely and it looks back at you


"If you jump, it's gonna be sometime before you hit bottom."

"That a fact?"

I shrugged. "More or less."

She stole a glance at me. I fought to keep my gaze steady and stern. She wavered, put a foot down. "This is so fucked up. I'm supposed to be on vacation."

"I'm supposed to be someplace too." Easy now.

She nervously chewed her lip. "You don't sound French. I mean, the way you talk --"

"Moved here from California a while back." I extended my hand. "Los Angeles here."

She put another foot down. She didn't take my hand. "Orange county."

One hand remained on the railing. "Tell me,"she sniffed,"did L.A. fuck you up so much that you had to move away?"

I felt a slow smile spread across my face. If she's sarcastic, she must be recovering. "How about we take a walk? I'll get you back where you need to be."

"You sure? My...my mom's waiting for me at the hotel."

"No problem. I got time."

She stepped off the bridge entirely. She drew closer, and I noticed her face was bloodless, and her lips had turned blue. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she lamented. "It was a stupid thing to do."

"I'm just glad you didn't jump because I would've gone in after you."

She kept her head down, and I couldn't see her eyes. "You'd do that, huh," she murmured."A complete stranger like me -- you'd give a damn?"

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat to keep them from trembling. "Well, as I said, it's a long way down."


************


Today I saw her on television, promoting a movie. She had on a bright dress, and her lips were no longer blue.

She said something, and the camera panned closer until her face filled the screen. I found myself turning away. I had seen her eyes.



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9.19.2008

Just another friday

Les Irises Mauves by Claude Monet


Over a hasty breakfast today I saw my irises bloom. All those rosy-lavender buds broke open in the hazy autumn morning. Not quite Monet's Giverny, but the florist told me their riotous beauty will persist until the first frost. I'm glad of that because...well, just because.

I wanted to stay longer, but the bustle below my window reminded me of the time.


***************

"How's it working out, living here?"

It wasn't the first time I was asked this. Lila was as curious as the rest of them, but the nonchalance with which she made the inquiry made it somewhat compelling. We met at the courtyard below my apartment. She was on her way out just as I was prying open my rusty mailbox with a kitchen knife. The damn thing held my mail hostage for three days.

Lila's routine on weekdays was nondescript. Her day job required her to wear a uniform of impeccably austere black, always complemented by a crocodile leather briefcase. On the weekends she was different, exchanging her straitlaced Yohjis for flowy printed skirts and poet-style blouses, and she would head out to town with a battered guitar case. She would take the train to Orleans, where she would stand on a street corner and sing. Sometime the next evening, she'd be back at her apartment across the hall from mine, still singing.

I can't help feeling my neighbors know more about having fun than I do.


***************

Cucumber gratin. I nearly ordered that after 15 minutes of scowling at the menu. Cheese, cheese and more cheese. Oh great, another omelette. My server pushed me to try the suckling pig confit, so it's a good start.

Goose grease never tasted so good.

Okay, any start is a good start in my book. I've been stuck in a morass of gastronomic non-adventure over the past few months. I mean, when you start spiking every third meal with parsley you know you're in trouble.

****************

"Mon Dieu, Rachel, stop doing that!"

"Stop doing what?"

"Stop picking at your life like it's some damn scab! It's...self-mutilation!"

"My dear dear Yanic, don't you know that I have an unhealthy obsession of overanalyzing my life and overanalyzing the time I spend overanalyzing my life? I'm really that much fun."

"Mmff." Yanic can be so charming when he purses his lips like that. It's a French thing, I guess.


***************

9:00 PM CEST. I get a text.

"Hey kitten. Stop hanging out with that crazy old timer Yanic. Love your neuroses, love you madly, CJ."

Meow.

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9.12.2008

Look, a new day...



Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends

Like my fathers come to pass
Seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends

Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are

As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends

Ring out the bells again
Like we did when spring began
Wake me up when September ends

...has begun.


Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day

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9.11.2008

Collide and Collapse

Just how many Higgs Bosons can dance on the head of a pin?

Everyone's buzzing over the LHC, CERN, Higgs Boson, Supersymmetry, Dark Energy, Black Holes etc. Well, let's see. Best and worst thing that could happen is... nothing happens. It's back to square one for those who think they know their forces and particles. Or it could be a case of I-didn't-see-it-cuz-I-ain't-lookin'-for-it. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

**********

And to that nice gentleman who got a little enthusiastic about Lynds' cyclical time theory of the universe during my lunch hour, yes sir I gotcha. I couldn't talk much around the shrubs in my mouth, so I just wrote down what's nagging me about that theory: Lynds says that the finite universe follows infinite cycles. The problem with that is for a cycle to occur there has to be a pivot point -something that stops and something that starts (whatever it is, matter, energy, the works). Since the cycles continue on for infinity the pivot point must be infinite; the pivot point decides when the cycle ends and begins. It has to be something or someone that says "ok stop, now start again." Do matter and energy have some kind of consciousness to decide when to start the cycle? Or stop it? Who or what decides? What is the pivot point?

I recall reading somewhere that the universe is so peculiarly fine-tuned, that the most infinitesimal change in force strengths will destroy it.
And this model has to deal with a finite universe (since there is no cycle in a infinite universe). And if it is indeed an finite universe, where do the ends lie? What mechanism makes sure all energy and matter are conserved -because if they're not, they would have been all used up an eternity ago?

I'm gonna get a little metaphysical here: if the cyclic universe has been happening an infinite number of times, that means it has been happening for eternity past. You cannot traverse the infinite, therefore if we had an eternity past, today and tomorrow will never happen, because eternal time will keep on stretching the other way into the past. Time will never move forward because it will never escape an eternal past.

Sooo...if today happened, it's because time is moving forward from a beginning. If the beginning point was eternal, the progression of time has to be infinitely fast to escape an eternal past.

(Dontcha notice that some theoretical physicists are sounding more and more like philosophers? That the concept of infinity has become a sort of crutch when we can barely understand it?)

I'm not any sort of scientist, mind you, just a mere dilettante. It just might show in my rant. You're welcome to call me on it when I see you at lunch tomorrow :)

****************

Meanwhile, I'm cooling my heels to this funny rap vid:







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9.08.2008

Bruges in the Fall


"...but he was gone when autumn came..."*


I will remember your eyes the most. The way they're sad and gentle and inquisitive. The way they crinkled at the corners when you laughed. I watched the stars unravel in them. All this I will commit to memory and wear out in my mind's eye in the lonely road ahead.

What atrocities one might commit, when faced with such eyes...


*******


"I don't know what to think. It's not fair. You just can't take someone's heart and set its beat, then give it back the moment you found the right rhythm."

I reached up and kissed you. Your lips were soft and cool and sweet. It was a short, faint kiss. I wouldn't find the strength to part ways if it held any more passion.

And what about me? I'll go away knowing that my heart is no longer my own.

"I will kiss you again," I promised. "In this life or another."

"It's a deal, ninja-girl."

*******



"Let me carry that for you."

"No, it's fine, I got it. Really." I hated the plea in my voice.

You touched my forehead. "You're still so sick."

I shook my head, trying to smile. "It's just pollen season."

Send me from you now and I will find you. Please let go, my darling.

You watched me a moment, then bit your lip and nodded. "OK."

The suitcase felt so heavy.


******


Just look back. Just look back. If you just looked back, I'd change my mind. If you just looked back, I'd forget everything I thought I believed in. Just look at me again and I will follow you. If you just looked back. If you just looked back...

But I had shut my eyes.



* I dreamed a dream from Les Miserables

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9.05.2008

The movies on my mind...

I Girasoli ( The Sunflower ) (1970)

Filmmaker Vittorio di Sica conceived this movie as a dramatic vehicle to further his anti-war stance. Antonio and Giovanna are an Italian couple whose newlywed life is cut short when Antonio is sent to the Russian front in the waning days of WW2. A short time later Antonio is declared missing in action. Unwilling to accept that her husband is dead, Giovanna embarks on a mission to find him.The trail leads her to a small town in Russia, where she finds him in a state of tidy domesticity with a peasant girl whom he married out of gratitude for saving him from near-death in the bitter cold of the steppes. Devastated, Giovanna returns to Italy.

Realizing he is still in love with his first wife, Antonio follows her back to attempt a reconciliation. The film's poignant denouement, shot at a train station, will remain one of the most moving scenes in cinematic history. The complicated layers of love, loss and loyalty are beautifully essayed by the legendary tandem of Loren and Mastroianni and underscored by the lush arrangement of composer Henry Mancini (Pink Panther theme, Moon River).

Black (2005)

A bristling hulk of human frailty is asked to tutor a blind deaf-mute. She's headstrong and violent in her frustrated attempts to understand the world beyond her lost senses. He's in turns drunk and rude, pushing and bullying her to break through the constraints of her handicap. Over the course of the movie what started out as an uneasy truce blossoms into a fond camaraderie.

Rani Mukherjee's Michelle McNally's jerky histrionics and almost-willful enthusiasm in the face of her disability is the perfect counterpoint to Amitabh Bachchan's Debraj Sahai, the world-weary teacher who slowly deals with losing his memories to Alzheimer's with all the curmudgeonly hauteur of a King Lear. Named one of the 10 best films of 2005 by Time Magazine, this gem of a film firmly secured Bollywood's place in world cinema.

Zatoichi Chikemuri Kaido (literally "Zatoichi's Spurting Blood Road") / Zatoichi Challenged (1967)

My dad's always been a fan of Shintaro Katsu. He recently sent me a cache of movies on his favorite blind blademaster, along with a note: "A cane sword, straw sandals and a passion for dice - that's what a real superhero is all about." After watching a handful of movies in the series, what it's pretty much all about to me is a gleeful slicing and dicing through a gaggle of 'hoods who look like a bunch of bored customers in a post office, all in the name of truth, justice, and the pre-Meiji way. It's violent, moody, campy and ridiculous like Katsu's trademark "duck song"...

And I bloody like it :)

In this 17th installment of the series, Zatoichi squires an artistically-talented young boy to a far-off village to search for his father after the boy's mother dies. Along the way they meet a Kabuki acting troupe, a mysterious samurai, and a crime syndicate. The plot is unique in the canon in that the normally gruff hero is portrayed clucking over his impish charge like a bemused mother hen. His reluctant ministrations don't go unrewarded however: in a heartwarming scene, when the boy is prompted to produce an image of his mother, he sketches a caricature of Zatoichi.


Oh, and interesting tidbit - George Lucas modeled the lightsaber on Zatoichi's lightning draw. No doubt he was also inspired by the prevailing theme of the series: the superman-in-everyman.



Les Destinees Sentimentales (2000)

I saw this movie while vacationing with Leese in Monte Carlo. Betcha didn't think I'd sit around watching three hours of muted romanticism for the better part of the evening rather than take another shot at the craps table.

I've been a fan of director Olivier Assayas after his breathtaking film adaptation of the satirical play Irma Vep. Granted, Les Destinees' length is a bit hard on the ass but it has its moments. Featuring great shots of the picturesque French countryside, it follows the exploits of local aristocratic scion Jean Barnery. The sedate Pauline, the niece of the region's brandy baron and newly arrived from a tour of the continent, falls in love slowly with Jean through their idyllic rendezvous under the flowering fruit trees in a spring orchard. One world war, an economic depression and 30 years later into their marriage she catches him tossing their old love letters into a blazing grate. Sensing her silent inquiry, he quirks a patrician eyebrow."Do you mind?" Pauline, her face carefully neutral, shrugs and replies,"No. We're not the same people anymore." This state of exhausted affection persists until a warehouse accident aggravates a war injury; the bed-ridden Jean, his facade crumbling all around him, gets caught up in an unguarded few seconds of emotion as he laments, "Poor old Pommerel, if only he knew - he who was always half ruined. All the same, in life there are some pleasant things. It takes patience to see them. You have to look for them. What today's world is losing..is love. There's nothing else in life. But once you're sure, your voice is almost gone." My translation is a bit rough, but in its essence, that line broke my heart.


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8.26.2008

Enchantment passing through

Every story, tale or memoir - all are tales of human failing


There'll be no ties of time and space to bind us
And no horizon we shall not pursue
The moments when we smile and those in between
A journey we can only dream of...

( And how is it I say these things so easily to you? )

Is that all that we are good for
Just a stretch of mortal time?

( But why did I tell him this? )

For some god's experiment in which we have no say

( All I've done is tell him things he already knew )

Never wonder what I'll feel as living shuffles by

( He knew... )

A lifetime of not knowing where or how or why or when

( He knew... )

You are all I'll ever want...


from Aida

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8.25.2008

Symmetry

But now and then he'll say something wonderful...

"I was hurt like this."

"I know. The difference is, I'm still here. Not just present; here."

"Always?"

"Always." A simple word, but it was a breach, a breakthrough. "Don't you know me by now?"

Hearing it, believing it...What was it he said some time back? 'I know more than anyone what chances a man could take...and how far he could fall.' She brushed her hand over his lips, felt him smile.


He exhaled warmth. "Feel better?"

She sighed. "You always know what to say."

"I don't until you ask. I just...do my best to answer you."

She felt a powerful rush of feeling for him, and tears stung her eyes. She broke, she cried, she rebuilt herself. It was never easy or pretty. But to him, anything else in the world outside, with its standards and sharp lines, could not have this perfection.


'Something Wonderful' from The King and I
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8.23.2008

Between Being and Becoming...

Just One Sign is Everything


Chaya hai khumar tera
Dil mein sama ja
Beqaso ki taqdeer, tune hai sawari...
*


This song is on constant repeat on my pod. It's a ghazal dedicated to the Sufi saint Moinuddin Chishti. I may only know a smattering of it, but the Urdu language is so hypnotically poetic and unabashedly spiritual. I'm so captivated by this piece, I've begun doing dervish whirls on my weekend jaunts to the Tuileries ( yeah, I'm "spontaneous" like that, but the locals don't seem to mind! A nice gentleman even told me that I reminded him of a Fellini heroine heheh.)


A.R. Rehman is a genius.



Here's a vid of the song from a movie. It's sung after the firewalk /nikah of Emperor Jalaluddin Akbar to Princess Mariam-uz-Zamani / Jodha of Amer.





This instrumental version sounds divine as well:




*
Your trance is all over me
Reside in my heart
The destiny of the ones in despair, you have changed for the better



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8.21.2008

Maybe...

The river Seine, nightfall

...I have been so busy trying to plan my life

( that I stopped living it )

...I get so caught up in the ways things are complicated

( that I forget that they don't always have to be )

...writing all those long, rambling letters in the dead of night wasn't the sort of thing I'd done very much before

( but I do it now, just because you wanted to know all about my day )

...it's about time I told you about that one night when I woke beside you and just held your hand and watched you while you slept, a sentinel in the pitch-dark of your troubled dreams

( and I stayed awake until the first light of dawn broke through your window )

...I don't let you know enough how wonderful you look when you smile. As if you're lit from within. You can conquer a room with that smile

( you conquer me )

...you meant it when you said I am ruled by petty passions. Fear. Jealousy. Pride. These things make me cruel

( and I have let them, for I know of no other way to fight for you )

...you were right when you said we didn't make it this far for us to just walk away

...it will take lifetimes to forget you, but even forgetting you is a passion. Where you are concerned, I am vulnerable

I want the reality. I embrace it, with all its sweetness and stings. I want you. Every part of you – not just who you are when things are easy to bear. I will not forfeit that. Even if you are cruel to me
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8.10.2008

The tide is coming in...



...and you will dance on top of the waves.


You're closer than you think. Speak faith into your heart. Don't give up on your dreams. The tide will come back to you, my love.

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8.03.2008

остальное в мире: Алекса́ндр Иса́евич Солжени́цын (Dec 11, 1918 - Aug 3, 2008)

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, after he was released from the Gulag, 1953

“Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people. Let your memory be your travel bag.”

And my grandfather V.'s favorites from his dog-eared copy of The Gulag Archipelago :



Live with a steady superiority over life–don't be afraid of misfortune and do not yearn after happiness; it is, after all, all the same–the bitter doesn't last forever and the sweet never fills the cup to overflowing.

Rub your eyes and purify your heart–and prize above all else in the world those who love you and wish you well. Do not hurt them or scold them, and never part with them in anger; after all, you simply do not know, it may be your last act.






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Il Mare

Positano, Italy

"In time," he whispered, coiling her hair around his fist. "I will be everything to you."

Even our sanctuaries can become prisons


How deeply and softly the colors of the evening have spread
At the end of the day the fragrance of fragile blooms rises along my path
In the first watch of night
Your voice awakens me, sometimes in a clap
Sometimes in a murmur
And the earth appears more lucid than the moon.

Whose footstep, whose shadow
Enters here?
Who gives me thorns
To decorate my palms
To change the lines of my fate?
Am I to live wounded with flowers ?


May the impertinence of my eyes be forgiven
May they look on you just a little
What my lips couldn't say, my gaze says for me.

Where did you walk off,
Where did I?
I kept roaming thus,
I didn't find what I was looking for
But on this bluff I beheld the world.


What is this place
Where I have no rule over joy
No power over sorrow?


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7.31.2008

Prandial musings


I gave a dinner party last weekend to clear out my pantry. A neighbor brought along esteemed company to my humble table, a recipient of the Pulitzer Prize for fiction and author of a book made into an Oscar-winning movie. I haven't seen the movie or read any of his books, unfortunately, so I didn't have anything to add to his ego wall. Anyway, this gentleman so generously led the after-dinner conversation with his signature brash joie de vivre. Here are some gems from that night :


"The Pulitzer isn't about passion. It's about sarcasm. Write a lot of good sarcasm, and you'll win it."

"If you want to be respected as a writer, don't quote Shakespeare. It's cheap. Downright cheap. Anyone who quotes a popular author for the purpose of being romantic is a bleedin' hack. Same could be said if you're quoting Dickinson or Frost. But, you could do it if it's tongue-in-cheek, as a meta reference -- hey, do you have any more of that port?"

"OK, watch as I quote poetry in prose. Who's that good-lookin' fella on your mantel? What's his name? CJ? I once knew a rancher named CJ, craziest son of bitch who'd ever -- anyway, observe:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I

...i took the one less traveled by...

and I saw CJ and beat the Jabberwocky outta him,

and a fly passed by while he died

and that has made all the difference



"Back in my day, being a writer used to mean something. Now everyone's a writer. And that garbage the whole lot of them turn out - there's no charm, no wit, no deep tragedy. Just...wallowing. Actually, they're wading. In shallow water. They want to drown, so they kneel down. When that doesn't work they lie down and bury their faces in the mud."

"You fall out of love, and that son of a bitch hurt you like a mother, rip him up, destroy him in prose. You're gonna grow cold and lonely, but man, years from now you're gonna be quoted. Every pimply-faced kid in high school's gonna know your name. Look at Hemingway, wanna be great like him? Make your life as great as your writing. What I'm trying to say is, you're gonna have to be brave enough to let your life fall into a bit of ruin. The compost - what's left - is your material, your golden nugget. I'm not kidding. Writing's not for the piss weak."

"If you've got the tiniest bit of ambition, you'd have to forget about being happy. Happiness only exists in mediocrity, when you'd have stopped trying. So, shine or die."

"I woke up at noon today. Well, I would've slept until the cows came home.There's something about European cities that encourages you to be downright sybaritic."

"I'm tired talking about what I do for a living. Can we talk about something else? Rachel, don't you own a microwave? Wouldn't you rather just nuke the tea!"



On a happy note, I think I've hit my stride in the art of the souffle-making at last. I'd only ever made souffles twice before, and they didn't come up puffy enough. I remember my grandmother telling me that whenever I'm feeling anxious in the kitchen or in bed, a shot of spirits is gonna make me instantly amazing in both :) Sooo...I chugged down a good amount of gin and tonic while I was cooking this time around. Whether or not that resulted in my souffle's improvement is, uh, debatable :P

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