These days, I feel so plagued.
I carry the weight of a world I know nothing about.
Nina njaa, nina kiu, nisaidie
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Quizás
"Estás perdiendo el tiempo
Pensando, pensando
Por lo que más tú quieras
¿Hasta cuándo? ¿Hasta cuándo?"
Pensando, pensando
Por lo que más tú quieras
¿Hasta cuándo? ¿Hasta cuándo?"
Thursday, February 9, 2012
st. valentine
we'll sleep with longitudinal moons,
shake the ice from our veins and the stitch from our sides, the one that makes us crave perfection
and wonder why it's not enough and if another taste
would quench our hunger for bygone eras of not so long ago.
mais non, the rain makes sand crunch under our overdressed feet,
squeaking like the sound of long legs walking, a head turned to double-take, elation.
we fight to find a way to live, fight chance,
fight our way to the finish line, which is always death.
and then it's 4 a.m. while the city's on fire and the dust people sleep, and we hang in limbo
laying on ice-cold sheets,
playing a hard game of chess with the other side of ourselves,
asking the same questions that we've asked for thousands of years.
A or B, stay or leave, where are you, what can i do, what is eternity worth, and what,
what exactly is love?
shake the ice from our veins and the stitch from our sides, the one that makes us crave perfection
and wonder why it's not enough and if another taste
would quench our hunger for bygone eras of not so long ago.
mais non, the rain makes sand crunch under our overdressed feet,
squeaking like the sound of long legs walking, a head turned to double-take, elation.
we fight to find a way to live, fight chance,
fight our way to the finish line, which is always death.
and then it's 4 a.m. while the city's on fire and the dust people sleep, and we hang in limbo
laying on ice-cold sheets,
playing a hard game of chess with the other side of ourselves,
asking the same questions that we've asked for thousands of years.
A or B, stay or leave, where are you, what can i do, what is eternity worth, and what,
what exactly is love?
Saturday, February 4, 2012
I don't usually do things like this,
... but this time, I will. Here are my reasons for it:
1. I love Avy's blog, and I've followed it for years, both out of loyalty and out of sheer curiosity and fascination. Reading about her life is like watching a gritty yet beautiful film, like stepping into a world that in no way mirrors your own, yet somehow you feel as if you've always been a part of it. She's a beautiful writer and has the ability to make reality look like a shade of gray that you've never seen before.
2. It's freezing cold, and I have no substantial jacket. There is no indoor heat here. My hands are chapped.
3. I'm sitting here in a fairly lonesome room at 4 in the afternoon (one of the worst times of day, if you ask me), it's a gloomy day, and I know exactly how it feels to uncover an object you had forgotten about for a long time. An object with which there is such a powerful memory attached that you want to both simultaneously burn it immediately and also keep it close to you for just a little while longer.
--
A very, very long time ago, I wrote a post about how much I loved thrift stores. They are havens for unknown secrets, reservoirs of stories waiting to be discovered or imagined.
There's a sort of thrill that can be derived from owning something that once meant a lot to someone else.
I want to own this part of Avy's story, to wear it, to guard it, to use it for solace and warmth from the other side of the world on days like today when it's cold and rainy and optimism levels are running on empty. Maybe this is just yet another way that we can connect with people, to be there for strangers that we love.
After all, isn't that why we blog to begin with?
1. I love Avy's blog, and I've followed it for years, both out of loyalty and out of sheer curiosity and fascination. Reading about her life is like watching a gritty yet beautiful film, like stepping into a world that in no way mirrors your own, yet somehow you feel as if you've always been a part of it. She's a beautiful writer and has the ability to make reality look like a shade of gray that you've never seen before.
2. It's freezing cold, and I have no substantial jacket. There is no indoor heat here. My hands are chapped.
3. I'm sitting here in a fairly lonesome room at 4 in the afternoon (one of the worst times of day, if you ask me), it's a gloomy day, and I know exactly how it feels to uncover an object you had forgotten about for a long time. An object with which there is such a powerful memory attached that you want to both simultaneously burn it immediately and also keep it close to you for just a little while longer.
--
A very, very long time ago, I wrote a post about how much I loved thrift stores. They are havens for unknown secrets, reservoirs of stories waiting to be discovered or imagined.
There's a sort of thrill that can be derived from owning something that once meant a lot to someone else.
I want to own this part of Avy's story, to wear it, to guard it, to use it for solace and warmth from the other side of the world on days like today when it's cold and rainy and optimism levels are running on empty. Maybe this is just yet another way that we can connect with people, to be there for strangers that we love.
After all, isn't that why we blog to begin with?
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