*facepalm*

The shelving units have been ready all summer, but I still prefer to sit in the middle of piled-up paperwork, curled-up Post-Its, CD covers and photographs bound in twine that formed a curious barricade on one side of my room.

And whenever someone asks when I'd get around to organizing stuff, I just tell them that there are things that simply can't get done for shit. That answer, coupled with a broody undertone, somehow gives me the sinking feeling that I'm trying to talk about something other than the sudden loss of my compulsive urge to tidy up.

At some point it's going to be just a little bit rude to leave things as they are, cuz after all, he lives here too. Right now, he's lost in a shuffle of his own messy bits in the downstairs anteroom, but sooner or later he's gonna pick up on my slack - and it would only be when he'd start getting curious that I'd wrinkle my nose at the idea of conformity and begin throwing words out like standards (and probably something stupid like boundaries); then he'll tell me to do whatever the hell I want since I can't deal--

Oh.

Oh.
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Confessional

I planned on doing a cover of Empire of the Sun's Walking on a Dream in Amsterdam (maybe I still will); this version by Kate Miller-Heidke just knocked my socks off. A great interpretation with soul, baby.



Walking on a dream
How can I explain
Talking to myself
Will I see again

We are always running for the thrill of it thrill of it
Always pushing up the hill searching for the thrill of it
On and on and on we are calling out and out again
Never looking down Im just in awe of whats in front of me

Is it real now
When two people become one
I can feel it
When two people become one

Thought Id never see
The love you found in me
Now its changing all the time
Living in a rhythm where the minutes working overtime

Catch me Im falling down
Catch me Im falling down

Dont stop just keep going on
Im your shoulder lean upon
So come on deliver from inside
All we got is tonight that is right till first light
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fashion statement

"So what do you think eh?"

"Riigghhttt."

"C'mon, who doesn't want a touch of irony here and there?"

"The only place that's touched by any kind of irony is your head."

"What?"

"Ok, but not when we're out in public together."

"Aww, where's the fun in that?"

"You know, I think you're having way too much fun with this."

Well, he did agree to be the straight man to my riot act (shrugs)

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First Dance ( the beginning of us )

Only Alive
by Jars of Clay

I'm a fair weather friend
I'm a colorless view but I'm willin' to make a deal
If you think you can make some faith here inside
I'll drive off and marry you

I'm only alive with you
I can't get by and I won't get through
So put me in the river and let me say I do
I'm only alive with you

You're a sight for sore eyes and a newborn cry
In a year where there are so few
If you throw me a line, I'll show you in time
I'm fallin' in love with you

I'm only alive with you
I can't get by and I won't get through
So put me in the river and let me say I do
I'm only alive with you

Though my heart has been torn by loves I have worn
And I'm tempted by them ever still
I tremble inside when you walk in the room
You hold my affections at will

I'm only alive with you
I can't get by and I won't get through
So put me in the river and let me say I do
I'm only alive with you
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The Circle Closes

He placed an aged, leather-bound book on her lap. "I picked up something for you earlier. You said you liked poems."

"It's a first edition!" She gasped, greedily thumbing through the pages. Then her face fell. "Oh wait...I'm not too good at reading German."

He laughed softly. "I can. I could translate as I read it to you."

"OK." She settled herself on his chest, the rough wool of his sweater rubbing against her cheek as he read. The words moved over her like a half-whispered melody until all she knew was darkness, and the gentle drift of the breeze and the sound of his voice.

Es ist unsinn, sagt die vernunft. It is nonsense, says reason.
Es ist was es ist, sagt die Liebe. It is what it is, says love.

Es ist unglück, sagt die berechnung. It is misfortune, says caution.
Es ist nichts als schmerz, sagt die angst. It is nothing but pain, says fear.
Es ist aussichtslos, sagt die einsicht. It is hopeless, says insight.
Es ist was es ist, sagt die liebe. It is what it is, says love.

Es ist lächerlich, sagt der stolz. It is ridiculous, says pride.
Es ist leichtsinnig, sagt die vorsicht. It is foolhardy, says caution.
Es ist unmöglich, sagt die erfahrung. It is impossible, says experience.
Es ist was es ist, sagt die liebe. It is what is, says love.

"Rachel." His voice was pitched so low it barely reached her ears.

She woke. "Mm?"

"Marry me."

She drew herself up sharply and stared at him. He simply held her eyes, his expression benign and untroubled.

"You know how I feel and it hasn't changed from the first time I asked. And I'm asking again, because I want to."

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze was drawn towards the open window where the moon shone silver and gold. She kept her eyes fixed upon it until a shadow crossed its face and the light faded.

Only breathe...

The sky above tilted, spinning towards destiny, stretching the stars in the distance like a million pieces lost.

I ask for nothing else...

When everything stilled, a faint glow suffused the moment, like it had been waiting to fall for so long, transmuted to meet a single perspective.

I understand.

She leaned in, fingers lightly tracing the shape of his mouth, the line of his cheek. "I'm looking forward to the day when I will surrender my share of the blanket, split the difference on the thermostat and bake your favorite lasagna every Thursday for the rest our lives." Her face was solemn, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "You down with that, doctor?"

His face broke into a smile. He entwined his fingers with hers, bringing up her hand to press his lips against it in a gesture of wordless joy.

Yes.
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Dead people's coffee tables...

It's quaint, and roughed-up in all the right places. I want it, even if it means I'd have to wedge it in some inconvenient area where the front door would most likely hit it. I want it as badly as I want to be reincarnated in some burlesque dancer's body at the Crazy Horse on days when I'm just a little a bit sauced. I could just picture CJ nattering on its apparent ugliness as well as my indefatigable ability to eliminate my precious little of unused space with yet another piece of junk.

I run my hand over the scratchy burls and feel the previous owner's essence settling on the ends of my fingers. He was a quiet sort of man, moderate in his habits, fond of buying meals along the shops at Cherche-Midi. He enjoyed a mugful of coarse toddy every so often, and he didn't quite see the use for coasters. He piled his coffee table high with books, since he didn't keep a shelf.

I want to ask him, which of these books will you never read again? How many of them are just stale props to show visitors how much culture you've imbibed? If I were to take away these books, would you feel barren, uncultivated? Would such an act provoke you, transform you? Will I be able to see your heart as it was before it got lost in the frenzy of accumulating the knowledge you thought you needed?

The disquieting feeling never quite leaves. Won't you take me? I've been waiting for someone like you.
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Come under the blue brocade sky...

Jai Ho

Aaja aaja jind shamiyaane ke taley

Aaja zari waale neele aasmaane ke taley

Jai Ho

Ratti ratti sachchi maine jaan gawayi hai

Nach Nach koylon pe raat bitaayi hai

Ankhiyon ki neend maine phoonkon se udaa di

Gin gin taarey maine ungli jalayi hai

Eh Aaja aaja jind shamiyaane ke taley

Aaja zari waale neele aasmaane ke taley

Jai Ho

Chakh le, haan chakh le, yeh raat shehed hai

Chakh le, haan rakh le,

Dil hai, dil aakhri hadd hai

Kaala kaala kaajal tera

Koi kaala jaadu hai na

Aaja aaja jind shamiyaane ke taley

Aaja zari waale neele aasmaane ke taley

Jai Ho

Kab se haan kab se jo lab pe ruki hai

Keh de, keh de, haan keh de

Ab aankh jhuki hai

Aisi aisi roshan aankhein

Roshan dono heerey hain kya

Aaja aaja jind shamiyaane ke taley

Aaja zari waale neele aasmaane ke taley

Jai Ho!


Congratulations to one of my musical heroes, AR Rahman, on winning the Academy Award.

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Hung up

...

"I asked her, how do I know? And she said, if she's in love with you, she'll leave. If she loves you, she'll stay."

She grimaced. "Huh. Way to go asking my grandmother."

"I'd ask her any day. You know, she's as good at dispensing craggy wisdom as any shrink worth his couch. Better, perhaps. I got it, alright." He shifted the phone to his other hand and cleared his throat. "In fact, I'm planning to see you soon."

"Well, of course. We've agreed to meet up here on the way to --"

"Nope, before that, babydoll."

"Oh."

"Oh?" She couldn't tell whether he's teasing or not.

"Uh, you know - oh like, should I be freaking out or something?"

"Hmm, that depends." His reply carried hint of amusement.

Her brow furrowed. "You're being very...cryptic."

His voice dropped. It grew somber, rushed. "Am I? Anyway, I'll call you as soon as I'm booked. Gotta go now though. Love you."

"Wait --"

Click.


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For A.K.

I hope you like poems and puzzles. Good luck wit' this, genius :)

LDJBLRZOZFPPFRBTQFMCBSTWUYXEXTSMLXWAHLUARFSJUIBFV
RAJFONNRXOJLQSUGQPNJPXPRZARTNIZFERTNISOWKEKTRZYUH
ZIWSUHNTSLITCVTHHJMNBLIZFLNPRXUIXBGNPLXTCRXSGXGCU
OHZBIYLJPQZHDQLXFEFNFUBWUARAMVWONRAKPOJGTNTJVHXJF
SXDFTOEOTFEAJCVNNBENAZXFFLMNEUJPFANIWWM
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My next vacation...

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, Africa

.
My darling,
.
I noticed how your capacity for fun is completely shot these days; work's become quite a nasty habit of yours. So I'll take it upon myself to drag the both of us out of our well-ordered world. Check out my treat:
.

In Zimbabwe, Africa, a popular attraction is Victoria Falls, cascading from a height of 128 m.
.
People can swim as close as possible to the edge of the falls without falling over, in a location known as the "Devil's Pool."
.
So what do you say? This is as great as falling out of airplanes!

I hope you'll show the slightest inclination to escape for once from your tiresome fix. I don't care if it's Paris.

I've got tickets and reservations on the ready. I'll be waiting.
.
Love,

CJ
. . .

Well, you know me. Always looking to live life on the edge.

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Gehazi's Folly

Hannibal Lecter: First principles, Clarice. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each particular thing ask: what is it in itself? What is its nature? What does he do, this man you seek? He covets. That is his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we seek out things to covet? Make an effort to answer now.
Clarice Starling: No. We just...
Hannibal Lecter : No. We begin by coveting what we see every day. Don't you feel eyes moving over your body, Clarice? And don't your eyes seek out the things you want?*

Convince me please. I want you to.

The way you say my name means grace in Hebrew. Ann. Anneke. The way you see me, revealing the hollow inside myself - peripatetic, threadbare griefs in hazy winter ( I will find you shivering among the rocks, asking me to wear a sleeve of your navy smoking jacket ) The way the moon sleepwalks ominously in the dark as the night wind howls, replacing your voice, and the dawn shuts its eyes for an hour more.

And this soul, so restless for you...

I'm so wishful that way.





*Silence of the Lambs (1991)

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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