| (pas de sujets) |
[nov. 13e, 2009|02:31 pm] |
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| | blessed. | ] |
day 5 of swine flu.
what's to report?
* swine flu on my birthday wasn't so bad. i got soy ice cream, soup, and as much sleep as i wanted.
* I finally found logo films! thank god. i was going crazy. hulu just wasn't cutting it anymore.
* plenty of time to get around to sorting out some financial detalis of life. bugh.
* i was just interrupted by the doorbell. surprise! my dad sent me this: http://www.amazon.com/Tarra-Bella-Elephant-Became-Friends/dp/0399254439
... i have no clue why behind his choice, but is uppose the non-sequitor-ness of it does make sense. for my dad.
* my roomate's car got stolen, driven a few blocks into roxbury, stripped, and burned last night. hers and mine were both honda's. i wonder why they chose hers... mm.
* it's been good to have a serious talk with s then not see her for a good while. not sure where things will go, but i'm starting to find things to look forward to about being single again. good sign.
* evidently after a full week of me being out sick my classroom has kinda been torn apart. as in stuff strewn about, broken shelves... i'm just glad my para's back from being sick, even if i'm not. i know my kids are intense, i mean autistic four years old aren't always a walk in a park, but adults who can't set limits nor pick up the mess they let the kids make irk me. i'm not looking forward to going back to work. lots of readjusting and extra work for me in terms of with the kids and the room.
it's been nice to have a break from reality. to be reminded of how vulnerable the human body is. i'm not physically or, perhaps, emotionally ready to jump back into life yet... so i'll just enjoy today and tomorrow wrapped up in a cocoon of movies, tea, and vegan brownies sent from best friends who love me. |
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| What sort of thing, then, was this love? |
[oct. 17e, 2009|10:42 am] |
First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons--but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored up love which has lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world--a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring--this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.
Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else--but this does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering mad-man may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.
It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.
-Carson McCullers
( lyrics-schmericks ) |
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| stolen words |
[juil. 23e, 2009|08:47 am] |
You fight your superficiality, your shallowness, so as to try to come at people without unreal expectations, without an overload of bias or hope or arrogance, as untanklike as you can be, sans cannon and machine guns and steel plating half a foot thick; you come at them unmenacingly on your own ten toes instead of with tearing up the turf with your caterpillar treads, take them on with an open mind, as equals, man to man, as we used to say, and yet you never fail to get them wrong.
You might as well have the brain of a tank. You get them wrong before you meet them, while you’re anticipating meeting them; you get them wrong while you’re with them; and then you go home to tell somebody else about the meeting and you get them all wrong again. Since the same generally goes for them with you, the whole thing is really a dazzling illusion empty of all perception, an astonishing farce of misperception.
And yet what are we to do about this terribly significant business of other people, which gets bled of the significance we think it has and takes on instead a significance that is ludicrous, so ill-equipped are we all to envision one another’s interior workings and invisible aims?
Is everyone to go off and lock the door and sit secluded like the lonely writers do, in a soundproof cell, summoning people out of words and then proposing that these word people are closer to the real thing than the real people that we mangle with our ignorance everyday?
The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It’s getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That’s how we know we’re alive: we’re wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that–well, lucky you.
--Philip Roth, American Pastoral |
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| wastin time to get it right |
[juil. 20e, 2009|04:56 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | the future | ] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| | anticipation | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | i'm good, i'm gone--lykke li / starstruck - lady gaga | ] |
i have a job!
i'm working at the emerson school, near dudley square (roxbury)
lovely-location, neh? i'm totally biking to work everyday, mmmhm.
more infoz
...special education, with kids 3-4 years old. yikes! it'll be me and a para in a small basement room with 6 kids... tough times, but i'm v. excited nonetheless.
in other news, i graduate from BTR/the masters in edc on thursday. then on friday it's off to p-town for the day! biking back from p-town ==> boston with ben & sarah starting saturday, camping along the way.
there's so much happiness right now... stress is over. i can relax--at least for a few weeks--until i start setting up my classroom. the only bug in my soup is the question of a certain fabulous lady... but that's life. que sera sera.
frisbeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee time w00t! |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juin. 21e, 2009|07:19 pm] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | emily wells | ] |
i can't think of anything sexier right now.
can you?
didn't think so.
yesyesmmmmmmmmm |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[mar. 23e, 2009|12:38 am] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| | pensive | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | obra squara | ] |
wake me up
if you want to make it physical
check my pulse
the condition isn't critical
( . )
it makes me comfortable
and i enjoy it
it's kinda wonderful
so why avoid it... |
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| life goals |
[fév. 22e, 2009|12:14 pm] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | yeasayer - 2080 | ] |
if you find me
i'll be sitting by the water fountain,
picket signs/letdowns/meltdown
on monday mornin
yeah yeah we can all grab the chance
and be handsome farmers
and the pain we left the station
will stay in a jar behind us
we can pickle the pain
into blue ribbon winners at county contests
( ok real life goalz time ) |
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| in sum....: |
[jan. 29e, 2009|07:03 am] |
“The danger in telling them the answer
is that they think that the knowledge
lies outside of themselves.”
–Francesca
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| (pas de sujets) |
[jan. 28e, 2009|10:35 pm] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | skinny love. again. repeatrepeatinfinityironyohyes. | ] |
"It is absolutely paradoxical; we cannot understand it, and we don't know what it means, but we have proved it, and therefore we know it must be the truth."
( more )
Metaphors do not just distort reality but compose it.
These ideas change the salience of my understanding. No longer do I think of a metaphor as `merely' a figure of speech or as an aid to thinking. Instead, I have come to realize that much thought — and all abstract thought — is based on metaphors.
The key to understanding — not the key to mathematical proof, which is different — is that mathematics comes from consistently extending fundamental experience, such as crawling. Each extension is consistent with what went before, but a little different.
Mathematics is difficult because most people do not see the metaphors that give meaning. So all they learn is proof, which is boring when meaningless. |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[jan. 7e, 2009|12:02 am] |
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"When I examine living beings very closely, I find a common sensual intensity that exhilarates and seizes me at the deepest level. We are beautiful, repulsive, and erotic all at once. I am only revived by my chance encounters with these pieces of pulsing life that seem surprisingly rare in the civilized world. This flesh that lies hidden is what moves me in a most sublime way." |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[aoû. 2e, 2008|11:06 pm] |
Perhaps, it is that flexible concept that defines relationships and how they develop, maybe you need to not be with someone in order to love them properly. Maybe it is just a shitty old world and you gotta accept love anyway it comes to you. With me, I usually only ever get love in small portions or in abnormal or conditional ways that never stay too long. Do I like it like that...who knows. That is like wondering if you had a different mom, would you be better off. No, instead you cherish what you have. I love my mom, because she is the only mom I will ever have, and I love my fucked up incomplete loves, because they are all I have ever known.
I read something about memories, and how in a way, every time you remember something, you relive it and destroy the old memory, leaving yourself with the new version that is filtered through who you are now, changed a little bit.
I suffer from spilling too many words and images that are too strong because my desire to be understood directly conflicts with my aversion to being understood too well.
http://www.asofterworld.com/bw-display.php?id=2
ho hum. |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juil. 23e, 2008|10:29 pm] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | *groan* carla bruni...yeahyeah. | ] |
on me dit que l'destin se moque bien de nous
qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout
paraît que le bonheur est à portée de main
alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit...
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juil. 1er, 2008|04:14 am] |
i felt strangely compelled to translate this...
translating poetry is tricky
you have to have a knack for it
(which i, unfortunately, lack)
i've toyed with this one for years.
its simplicity always strikes me.
undoubtedly, i'll look back and find several words
to be unacceptable approximations.
it doesn't do justice to the french version
but for now,
it will do.
( non-dits, take two ) |
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| "Ce n'est pas parce qu'il ne t'est rien revenu, que ce n'est rien devenu… " |
[avr. 6e, 2008|06:52 pm] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | it never changes to stop--the books | ] |
Nous ne savons jamais ce qui se perd ou ce qui reste, à quel moment nous avons fait un geste ou prononcé une parole qui sera peut-être décisive pour la suite d'une histoire, la nôtre ou celle de l'autre, d'un autre... quelles graines trouveront une terre favorable et s'enracineront, pour longtemps peut-être, et lesquelles se perdront.
Ni tambours ni trompettes, l'instant est passé, la phrase a été dite, sans que nul ne s'en aperçoive. Des semaines ou des années plus tard peut-être, on vous dira: "C'est le jour où tu m'as dit..." ou peut-être on ne vous dira rien, vous ne saurez jamais. Le début d'une amitié, les germes d'une rupture, ou même une rencontre de passage, une seule phrase, qui fait basculer d'un côté ou de l'autre...
Nous ne savons pas davantage ce qu'il reste d'un amour qui se termine, ni comment cette invisible empreinte évoluera au fil du temps. L'amour donné, reçu, ne disparaît pas mais devient autre, chemine en nous, à notre insu…
( ad hoc translation )
http://www.maisonplume.net/devenir.htm
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| (pas de sujets) |
[sep. 10e, 2007|01:21 am] |
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"The act of instruction can be viewed as helping the students unravel individual strands of belief, label them, and then weave them into a fabric of more complete understanding." |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juin. 10e, 2007|12:45 am] |
"... although the truth is I am not in love with her, she said, 'I love you,' I told her how I felt, this is how I told her: I held her hands out to her sides, pointed her index fingers toward each other and slowly, very slowly, moved them in, the closer they got, the more slowly I moved them, and then, as they were about to touch, as they were only a dictionary page from touching, pressing on opposite sides of the word 'love,' I stopped them and held them here."
-Jonathan Safran Foer
there was something about the handwriting
that made me keep every scrap
something about the way the eyes
looked away at the last
i kept somethin burnin
on the sill real low
(but now i don't know)
have you got me
in your bleeding heart file
next to lady luck
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| words. |
[mai. 20e, 2007|03:20 am] |
"She is no longer as certain that the object is entirely recuperable, no longer as arrogant as to presume a subject position that is inviolable, no longer as naive as to think the transactions of knowledge are innocent."
-biman basu |
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