@MrRazovsky: Today’s poetry prompt: write a poem only using the word “the”.
Life just isn’t like the movies, is it? We’re constantly led to believe in resolution, in the re-establishment of the ideal status quo, and it’s just not true. Happy endings are a myth designed to make us feel better about the fact that life is just a thankless struggle.
Do you want to dance?
- Tim, “Spaced” (writs. Jessica Stevenson and Simon Pegg)
|—||Sally Coulter (via tv-in-black-n-white)|
"My skills are not notable, but I never seem to do more than flirt with getting lost on streets and trails and highways and sometimes cross-country, touching the edge of the unknown that sharpens the senses. I love going out of my way, beyond what I know, and finding my way back a few extra miles, by another trail, with a compass that argues with a map, with strangers’ contrary anecdotal directions. Nights alone in motels in remote western towns where I know no one and no one I know knows where I am, nights with the strange paintings and floral spreads and cable television that furnish a reprieve from my own biography, when in Benjamin’s terms I have lost myself though I know where I am. Moments when I say to myself as feet or car clear a crest or round a bend, I have never seen this place before. TImes when some architectural detail or vista that has escaped me these many years says to me that I never did know where I was, even when I was home. Stories that make the familiar strange again, like those that revealed the lost landscapes, lost cemeteries, lost species around my home. Conversations that make everything around them disappear. Dreams that I forget until I realize they have coloured everything I felt and did that day. Getting lost like that seems like the beginning of finding your way or finding another way, though there are other ways of being lost.
- Rebecca Solnit, from “A Field Guide to Getting Lost”
God damn the time
God damn the miles
that take me away from you
and change your face
and change the way I love you
- Neko Case, “Local Girl”
Noah was set adrift for 40 days and nights. I am no Russell Crowe. Life-changing experiences stopped a while back. Life is only a thing to be experienced these days. I travel to keep the people I love around. I came to Australia to see Ash. I’ll go back to Canada, the States, Europe to see others. I also travel to find a spot for myself. To find my way out of feeling lost. Out at Merri Creek, I tied no wish to that Wishing Tree. Nothing to wish for, only far more to see. On to brand new worlds.
Taking photographs in public requires a certain amount of bravery. It can be anxiety inducing, and while I’m not someone who’s crippled by anxiety, it can take every bit of initiative I have to snap something off amidst a crowd. Yesterday an old man pointed out that I wasn’t allowed to take pictures in a market stall that sold wigs, and might have derogatorily questioned my sexuality. In situations like these, you have to find the bravery to shoot the thing anyway, if you believe it deserves to be shot. The braver you get, the more the photograph will mean.
You may tire of me
as our December sun is setting
because I’m not who I used to be
No longer easy on the eyes,
but these wrinkles masterfully disguise
the youthful boy below
who turned your way and saw
something he was not looking for:
both a beginning and an end
But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize
when he catches his reflection on accident
Death Cab For Cutie - “Brothers on a Hotel Bed”
A bit about inner peace: wouldn’t say I’ve found it, only that I’m surprised to figure out it was something I’d been looking for. I’ve been lost for four years now. When you’re lost, you poke around rocks for direction. You wander in search of something familiar. All of that poking around and wandering takes its toll. It’s created a chaos in me. Meditation has helped thus far. Don’t know if it’s just another phase, but so what if so? Maybe all of the phases are necessary. Whatever gets us to where we’re going. Whatever helps us find a home.
Three more days on this trip. I’ve become convinced that it’s okay to want to return somewhere. Had a delicious Easter Sunday dinner, lovingly prepared by Ash and Mike at their place. Ash raised an interesting point about the cities I’ve felt most comfortable in: they’ve all had conventional grid layouts. Melbourne’s CBD incorporates the “Hoddle grid,” turning it oddly away from its surroundings. Though it’s been forever since a city’s truly freaked me out. You get used to Hollywood, you can get used to any place. On my way back to the hotel I helped a woman with directions.
And it’s warm and humid on Swanston Street
and the air is filled with electricity
and the sky is deeper than a dream.
- The Distillers, “Dismantle Me”
Today was Record Store Day. I looked into the locations of a few shops here in Melbourne and went out hunting for a couple of 10” releases. Turned up empty handed, but it was nevertheless nice to get a look at that part of the city’s culture. Melbourne has a lot of record shops, and they were well attended. The city’s CBD becomes incredibly busy on weekends. Seas of people flowing up and down Swanston, making waves through the inter-building arcades, taking pictures, standing in line for macarons. I napped mid-afternoon to reset my internal clock. Watched “The Lone Ranger.”
My sleep schedule’s out of whack after staying up until five a.m. grabbing Veruca Salt tickets. The pains of placing orders for North American shows in a less-than-ideal time zone. Now the proud owner of ten in all, five on the west coast and five out east, in late June and late July. My fandom in few words: girl meets girl, girls form band, boy hears band and falls in love, girl leaves band, boy left heartbroken. Seventeen years later, girls bury hatchet. Boy buys tickets to the hatchet’s public funeral. He will know all the words to the eulogy.