MORE LUCID, LESS FUTILE
What matter? Why, it will not hurt at all,
Our youth is supple, and the world is sand.
- Three Rompers, Wilfred Owen
BEMBO’S ZOO
my first boss used to love vintage paraphernalia. it was never ostentatious ; she drove a puttputting beetle to work, kept a handbag made of measuring tapes and occasionally would show me books like Bembo’s Zoo by Roberto de Vicq de Cumptich.
POPPY AND MANDRAGORA
jinesh and i bought new cameras (joy!) almost concurrently – mine is toy-sized, his packed with awesome features. in the resultant jealous pique i’ve been spending good time undermining his camera’s functions while working out how to steal it from his pocket.
the pathos of tragic hair is offset by the discovery of cheap tomyum.
THOSE DAYS
in the dream i stood at the top of the chilly church tower looking down upon twisted domes and the sad cypress while someone chanted a melody which went on forever, insistently iambic – the night wind swirls in-the sky and sings – pablo neruda.
art history left me with an inordinate suspicion of cypress trees (van gogh) and all postmodern art (duchamp, mostly) but the church tower used to be the bane of my careless mind – in expurgating all i knew about the eleven stars, the horizon, brushstrokes et al onto examination sheets i would invariably leave this “compositionally essential” building out everytime, as if through subconscious force of habit. i went through academia largely in a narcopletic stupor, allowing habit to propel me from classes through mistakes to graduation.
it feels scary to be evaluating such a huge part of your life in a general, hazy retrospect. with adulthood it seems comes the cheery acknowledgement that the entity “those days” exist, and slowly the dreadful acceptance that “those days”, of the infinitely carefree and fresh lifestyles you would define yourself by, become increasingly nebulous, like waking from dreams.
i want to do EVERYTHING.
MEWWMOISELLE
visited the animal shelter and returned home smelling like drool and dogfood but kittenless, to the mother’s relief.
LIFE IN A CARDBOARD BOX
obsession is not a very good thing for me. it takes up too many languid hours and empty thoughts, and leaves very very precious little breathing space for me that is free from sin and longing. i do not like being wistful. it is a breathless feeling. it aches like wearing a heavy blanket for days because i know that it will take a million impossible dreams to get what i want and that in the end it will not be as perfect as i’ve envisioned anyway. one must learn to keep the loveliest things secret and silent.
also, my hair is growing out. IT LIVES!
FANGIRL MODE
this is really uncharacteristic but i spent the past weekend, happily, on a kungfu movie marathon.
JUST ANOTHER DAY AT WORK
shopping for brains. ; )