October 2011
23 posts
Farewell
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. I’m not sure I can wrap my mind around completing this project yet, but I’m glad that I did it and I’m glad that it’s over and I’m glad that you’re reading this. I started this project a year ago today “in an effort to keep a record of a year of my life, and hopefully improve my writing in the process.” My friend and I...
No. 365
Ever been in love? You should really try it at some point. I remember the last time I fell in love properly - something like two hours ago, it was. Yep. I was gathering my hat and scarf, making plans with a friend for later in the evening, when a man came in the door and made a beeline straight for where I was standing. I watched him approach out of the corner of my eye, probably rather...
No. 364
Look, what I’m trying to say is this: people have done me wrong. People have done you wrong. And we’ve all been mistreated by things that aren’t even people - machines, institutions, inanimate objects (I’ve run into my fair share of doorjambs and table corners, okay?), what have you. But if we didn’t have these run-ins with the unpleasant parts of life, we...
No. 363
It is raining apologetically. I hate it when the weather is apologetic.
Where I come from, it rains in squalls - loud, like the temper tantrum of a celestial two year old - and when you aren’t being drowned, you’re being smothered or baked. The humidity is like a chloroform-soaked pillow over your mouth and nose that knocks you out and then shoves you in an oven while you’re...
No. 362
I imagine the first part of writing to be sort of like fishing: coming up with an idea, for me, is very much like coming up with a fish. There’s this mass of moving water that you’re standing in (or floating on), so you dangle a hook in and hope that something catches on it. If you wait long enough, something does - and then you get to decide whether or not it’s a keeper.
The...
No. 361
Ten years from now, I want to still be writing. Even if it’s just letters. And I want to still be drawing, even if it’s just doodles.
I want to be still making music with other people who have as much fun with it and love it as much as I do.
In fact, I want to be making more things in general - and buying less. I want to be growing more, both in personal terms and in terms of helping...
No. 360
She strings words along like a pretty boy trails adoring girls like a momma duck leads ducklings like little fat blobs of sunshine. And she might like that sentence if she read it.
There are rhymes hidden in what she says, and some snide humor, but it all flows by so smoothly that most of what you end up hearing is just the rhythm anyway. She plays fast and loose with it. Amazingly, everything...
No. 359
The wind whips rivers of leaves along the grass, shoals of autumnal fish fluttering around my ankles. I am not in a hurry. I like the wind to push-broom me along, because this sort of bluster reminds me of Winnie the Pooh, and of my first home. I want to call the boy biking past Christopher Robin, and then I want him to stay with me and crunch leaves all the way home like my brother and I used to...
No. 358
It is healthy for everyone to feel like a complete and total beginner every now and then. It’s a feeling that I rather suspect most people take for granted or even abhor, because it, by necessity, comes with a heaping serving of inadequacy. (I would also agree that it can be healthy for everyone to feel like an expert every now and then as well, but that’s beside the point.)
The whole...
No. 357
“If I had to name one place you should go in the whole world,” he says, taking the conversation on a slightly different tack, “I think it would be… India. I’d have to say India.”
“Really?” I’m not that surprised.
“Yes.”
“Why?” But I do want to know the rationale behind it. This man has been around the world...
No. 356
Here is what literature does: it tells stories. Sometimes the stories are true. (The ones that aren’t often have words like “novel” and “fiction” printed in obvious places to warn you.)
Here is what history and journalism do: they tell stories. Sometimes the stories are true. (The ones that aren’t are often indistinguishable from those that are.)
In an age...
No. 355
Mom says the day I came home covered in blood, she kept calm and ushered me away from mirrors so that I would stop freaking out. I don’t think so. I think I was fine until she saw me, because what kid doesn’t freak out a little when their mom gets this expression like ‘oh, I see harm has befallen you, excuse me while I DIE’?
Mom says it didn’t help when you walked in...
No. 354
They are a pair. If one begins a sentence, the other will suddenly find the end of it issuing from her mouth - a surprise to her because they only need verbal communication when other people intrude on the completeness of their relationship with each other. When left to their own devices, body language (a raised eyebrow, a twitched corner of the mouth, a shrugged shoulder, a wrinkled nose) can...
No. 353
I saw Sagrada Familia once, from the outside. It was overwhelming. Nothing could have prepared me for it - the sheer size, the detail, the sections of architecture styles, each one stranger than the last. To think that humans had built it - were building it, before my very eyes! I understood something of the urge to leave a lasting impression on the world during the half hour or so it took me to...
No. 352
The third girl. She looked odd onstage, as though she was only in the spotlight by accident but didn’t have the nerve to correct whoever had put her there. She didn’t say a word. Even the impromptu drummer and bassist in the back, additions from less than two hours ago who were improvising more than playing the actual set, were comfortable enough with their instruments to draw the eye...
No. 351
The sun hung high.
Along the curve of a highly exposed sidewalk, a chunk of people sauntered in the direction of the jaunty tunes floating their way. The tunes issued out of a hollow between the roots of a yellowing tree, where a fiddle, a flute, and a guitar were having every drop of joy wrung out of their respective bodies. The sun hung out high, all the delighted people were hanging out under...
No. 350
Lovely, long-legged lady, don’t you believe that I love you? Don’t you believe that the whole world is in love with you? You dance like you don’t. You laugh like you don’t. You smile like you don’t. Now, why ever could that be, I wonder?
For example: I’m so enchanted by your gams! I heard a voice behind me exclaim the other day, “She has such gams, you...
No. 349
He is the first person I’ve seen who can be so aptly described by ‘diminutive.’ It is not that he looks young because he is so small, or strange, or otherwise out of place. He is simply diminutive.
His upper lip sports a thick, well-kept moustache. His head sports groomed and tousled hair. His body sports clothes of the kind that L. L. Bean makes; sensible, sturdy, casual...
No. 348
(This post goes out with a nod to the first post on helio365isms’ brother blog.)
What is it about tickling that so delights the tickler? What is the reason for this ‘painful glory’ that tickle wars inspire? What all wars feed on: power.
“Oh, but what a crude way of attaining it,” you cry, “to put all that work into pinning someone down, all the force required,...
No. 347
A pop. A pop and a click and a boom. Boom buh boom boom. Mm! Boom buh boom boom, ka-crash, and- wheeze? No, try again. Wheeze? Nope, that’s wrong. Loud wheeze?
Hm.
Press your lips together. Suck in for the inhale, build up that pressure behind your teeth- wheeze? Eurgh, no. Drink a sip of water for the throat you’re running ragged right now, lick your lips to keep them nice and...
No. 346
Midnight has come and gone. Witching hour. From the next room over, which I know for a fact is empty, pops and clanks bounce over the floor and hop into my ears. I close my ears with pillows, but they keep bouncing in my head.
It is nighttime. I know for a fact that sounds become louder, more distorted, and that my brain is trying its hardest to leave the realm of the conscious right now. Who...
No. 345
I can only dimly remember a time before I explicitly understood that I was privileged. But it wasn’t until just now that I realized I’ve achieved a sliver of perhaps the greatest privilege: agency in my environment. That is to say, independence. Relative emotional and material independence. I can point to everything and everyone in my life and imagine myself without it; there is no one...
No. 344
The two dozen or so singers - in various stages of intoxication - shushed themselves and each other. In the lull, three voices continued to sway arm in arm. The chorus rose up with the care of a baby taking its first steps: “Heel ya ho, boys, let her go, boys,” dissolved into the room like a sugar cube in a cup of tea.
Voices joined softly, suffusing the house party with an...
September 2011
30 posts
No. 343
It is lunch time. I am between the ages of eight and ten. It is cold; I have on sensible, sturdy clothes, and my longish hair adds a valuable layer of extra insulation. I am eating the lunch my mom packed me, my friend and deskmate is eating her lunch next to me, and the rest my classmates are moving about.
One of them plays with my hair a little. “You have lice!” she shrieks. This is...
No. 342
Hello, stranger. You were biking west today across a quiet intersection, stranger, and I had to slow down to let you cross my path. That’s why I had time to see you - not just to look at you, but to really see.
You were on a bike. I was on a bike. I like bikes and I like the people who ride them, so I started out liking you. But that wasn’t all; you were on a bike, in a suit. I like...
No. 341
In the morning I get in a big bus with big people. I pick at a scab and my teacher gives me a look when I ask for a band-aid because I know I’m not supposed to pick scabs. We line up for recess. Nicki doesn’t hold my hand because it’s too hot. We line up for lunch. I like crunching the leaves on the sidewalk when I walk home from the bus stop with my brother. Mom is at home. Dad...
No. 340
You say, “But that isn’t all,” and leave. What does that mean, “But that isn’t all”? More to the point, what doesn’t it mean? Why would anyone be so maddeningly vague? Here’s what I imagine to be the only good reason to say “But that isn’t all” to someone and leave:
You are dashing off to strap on running shoes or hop on a bike/in...
No. 339
Sometimes I wish I were an architect. Sometimes I wish I were a bird. Sometimes I wish I were everything at once, and sometimes, nothing at all.
I wish that I were well versed in the behavior of building materials so that I could design halfway plausible buildings instead of completely impossible dream castles. I wish that I knew how carpentry worked - how wood likes and doesn’t like to...
No. 338
The squid wriggled, amorphous, in the space between the kid’s pencil and paper. He stared so hard at the blank wall space in front of him that a squid seemed to wriggle between his eyes and the wall, too.
Graphite smeared across the white expanse of paper on his knee. He refocused his laser gaze on his sketchbook, where the outline of a squid’s mantle was solidifying rapidly. The...
No. 337
The house sat comfortably on its hill, leaking music and the scent of biscuits. Its shutters were open; though the porch was empty, several figures danced just inside the picture windows. Two newlyweds floated down to the first floor and were absorbed into the thrum of activity at the heart of the house. One pulled out a portable chess set. One distributed hugs.
Rain drummed its fingertips on the...
No. 336
The woman stood on her tiptoes to survey the room while she spoke into the mic. “I want everyone to hold hands in a big circle, and if you’re at the back, don’t worry, there’s an end to the circle somewhere that you can grab.” She circumvented the monitor in front of her mic stand, and kept talked as she made her way to the middle of the audience. “Remember how...
No. 335
A tea date; warm rain misting the sidewalks outside. Idle conversation drifting out of our mouths. How was your day? I have an exam soon. What have you been reading lately? A lull. More rain.
“Someone asked me the other day what nationality I consider myself to be.”
Mmm, tea. Sip. “What did you tell them?” Sip again.
Grin. “Half German, half Spanish, allll...
No. 334
We were sitting on the radiators in the mudroom, determinedly minding our own business. Getting the maximum enjoyment out of the class basketball while simultaneously hiding it from the other kids for the duration of recess wasn’t easy, but we tried hard. The delicious fear of being found out but also the delicious invincibility of being ready to fight hung in the air around us.
The girl...
No. 333
A Writer’s Plea to the World, or: From a Lover to a Lover.
Always remember me in technicolor detail. Shape my lines around french curves and shade them in. No stray marks. Curl my fingers; straighten my legs; make my toes able to balance the rest of my body; add hair to my head until it grows fast enough to engulf small objects in its quest out of my scalp. Construct my body with attention...
No. 332
One day, out of the blue - on a day probably no different from any other - the world will end. Just flat out stop. Time will run into a brick wall, hearts won’t beat, limbs won’t move, sound will suddenly be muffled and buzzy. Everything will be over. Done.
And then it will go on.
Mad, right? Bonkers. How can the world end but still keep turning? Here’s the key: it...
No. 331
When does something end?
When you hear its voice for the last time? There’s a ringing in your ears where its sound has always been, should be, can’t possibly not be. You know that, as soon as you lose it, that particular frequency will never again be included in your aural spectrum.
When you know the end is coming? If you’re fortunate enough not to be surprised, if you have the...
No. 330
“Wait. Wait wait wait. Office sex is covered by Emily Post?”
“Every time Sam and Frodo could theoretically hook up, you have to take a drink.”
“You guys are going to have to stop talking about this, you’re cracking me up. All I hear is ‘Schnitzel! Oh yeah I’ve had schnitzel! I like schnitzel! Schnitzel schnitzel schnitzel!’ “
The...
No. 329
The two girls rolled on the lawn, delighted by each other, the blue sky, their music, the images on their laptop screens, the breeze - by life. They wiggled their toes, shared their coats, and grinned until their faces split and tears crawled down the cracks. One pointed into the trees mid-sentence.
“A bird of prey!” They watched it circle. “Another one!”
The birds looked...
No. 328
Bin gerade vom Deutschunterricht gekommen, war super. Wir haben über die Stasi geredet, und Dissidenten in der DDR, wer so verhaftet wurde und wieso, und wie es ihnen danach ergangen ist… grausam. Unglaublich, was einige - viele! - von ihnen durchgemacht haben.
Der Unterricht hat mit meinem Referat zu Juri Orlow angefangen, der ist noch am Leben, stell dir vor! Er hat im Zweiten Weltkrieg...
No. 327
(This post is a creative challenge to rework a post on helio365isms’ brother blog.)
Ever said something out loud for no reason whatsoever?
“Give it.”
Why ‘give it’? Why not have something like “Hi there” be the first words you’ve said all night? Maybe ‘give it’ just felt like the right words to form after that extended silence, like a...
No. 326
It is night. The crickets have turned up their song; windowsill plants shake their leaves out in the breeze. A collective waking yawn goes through the curated collection of windowsill curiosities.
Dangling in a place of honor in the middle of a prominent window, the anglerfish bobs its lure. It turns gently about its point of suspension, surveying the view outside before slowing to face its...
No. 325
The scene begins innocuously enough; a well-lit gym, gymnastics equipment spilling onto the mats rolled out over the floor, adolescents going through various stages of strength conditioning and stretching. At first, one mat is full of cartwheelers and another is taken up by people practicing handstands; the remaining two are speckled with something that looks more like yoga than tumbling....
No. 324
Somewhere in the great cosmos, there is a room. It is made of mattresses. They’re stacked three deep on the floor - if there even is a floor - with a wedge cut out just far enough to let the door open halfway. Stuffing wiggles out in tiny increments, but as long as the door is opened carefully enough that none of it escapes the room, it makes no difference. The whole room is afloat in...
No. 323
Just beside the band, almost on the same platform as the drums, sat two girls; they were managing to communicate fairly well despite their proximity to the musicians and their amps. I watched idly as the girls’ heads bobbed, and then, from across the dance floor, I saw one of them drop her jaw to the floor. She looked so shocked that I wondered if detonating a bomb behind her would break her...
No. 322
Anders and Soleil are lying on their backs on a patch of grass. Both are watching the sky; Anders is visibly distressed.
Anders: We have to stop - this.
Soleil: (playfully) This what? This cuddling? (Anders shoots her a sharp look. She sobers up.) Is Leah not okay with it?
Anders: I asked last night. She flipped.
Soleil: I’m sorry. That’s no fun.
Anders: (propping himself up on...
No. 321
He looks incredibly familiar. Why do I know him? This will bug me - oh! He came to my house and hung out a few times! Yeah, and he always included me in conversations and addressed me directly, even though he’d only just met me. He was really respectful about paying attention to me, too. Now I remember.
Mikey? Was that his name? Mikey, right?
“Hey, uh -” No, Mickey, it was...
No. 320
I listened into the silence today. Everything was silent, and then underneath the silence, there was a sound, and I realized that it had been there all along. But it’s not like I noticed it and then suddenly I could hear it; everything was still silent. Right between knowing you’re hearing things and knowing you’re legitimately hearing something, that’s where the sound...
No. 319
I can hear music wafting out of our windows on the third floor. It’s lovely to come home to a porch full of people and hear music - the piece coming from my room is lilting and expressive, something French. It sounds happy.
There’s a guitar being strummed somewhere in the throng of people hanging off of the porch, and someone starts singing along as I slip inside. Climbing the stairs...
No. 318
Light rain is good for thinking. The night is good for reflecting. Walking is good for contemplating. All of these triggers at once - walking in a light rain by night - produces a special clarity of mind conducive to bringing to the surface ponderances that have lurked for too long in places where they can’t be aired and worked through. Ponderances, such as the mechanics of a close...
No. 317
The short-haired chick whose stuff is still in our house walked in casually and gave us a nod on her way through the living room. Bit of a conversation-stopper, that.
“Is she moving her things out now?”
“Dunno. It’s kinda late at night, though.”
I was waiting for her when she walked out of the bathroom. “Hey, so, do you think you could let us know when...
