May 2011
21 posts
excerpt.
this is an excerpt from a (currently untitled) piece I’ve been writing tonight:
10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Blast Off.
For a moment, right after the one and before the goodbye, there is no breathing. It is earthsmokesky. There is no in between. The ground shakes with the shock waves; sound break into the earth. A defibrillation. And then, shook-shinning takes off skyward, spaceward....
counting.
I sneak around corners before the wind.
Count cracks in the pavement
before me
one
one two
six
Stepping lightly.
We never forget the limericks of children,
those rhymes that told us who we were to become.
We are those limericks.
Our lives are still counted out,
one
one two
one two three
by how many times we jump.
Sometimes it only takes one rope
twitch, taut,...
needs.
Arriving at Florida, seeing three of my fellow interns waiting for me at baggage claim, getting into a clown car and pumping Lady Gaga on the ride home, entering the bungalow, playing a game of Quelf, laughing as we (Patty in particular) made fools of ourselves…..
It was like a breath of fresh air. Fresh, humid, vibrant air.
This summer, this day, this time. This is what I need.
In a...
lists.
If you know me… at all… you know I do lists. I carry extra long post-it notes in my purse. I make a to-do list every single night. If I screw up on a list, I start over. I list lists (literally).
List make me happy. Simple order. Straight forward. In a world and life when nothing feels predictable, lists help build a sense of continuity. Even if the list is of incredible random...
goodbyes and hellos.
Tonight is my last night in Azusa until August. And then, it’ll only be for a handful of days. And then I will leave with three dozen strangers, up, back, into the woods. I’ve been there before. But that was before this semester. That was before this summer to come.
A week from tomorrow, I board a plane to Florida. I’ve been stressing the plane flight because honestly,...
gravitas.
I’ve spent the year, I realized, drenched in narrative theory. From Plato’s Republic and Aristote’s Poetics, to Girard’s Mimesis and Myth-making, to all things Literary Criticism, to Bettelheim’s wonder-full work on fairy tales, to Jerome Bruner’s work on Psychological Narrative theory and Metanarrative as the structure of self-hood, I’ve been drowning in...
