approval
It seems that there started to be a slight lag between the rhythm at which my thoughts pop into my head and the rate at which they get approved for storage in my receptive brain chambers. The declined crumbs that fall out of range recycle themselves into a viscous fluid and surrender on my canvas into an artwork that resembles mine, but with colors, an offset of my regular palette.
madness
I was so mad at her, but when I saw her weak shoulders bent in a vulnerable way, my madness turned into pity in no time… ad I felt like I had been a monster
weakness
I read this somewhere, and it upset me: “all the anger that she had carefully hidden was waiting for that one weak person with potential… -to empty all those feelings into-
for a rainy day
I remember vaguely that I had collected in a container some happy uppers, in the form of potential craft ideas. I hid that jar on the top shelf of my desires, to seek happiness on a rainy mood. Now I forgot what container… and I realized that my sensory motor abilities have curbed themselves from past over-use… and to think that I could have enjoyed them when I was still “alive”. So sad. Now I have ideas for research pipelined in the pseudo brain left on the right side of some hidden/forever hybernating hemisphere…
two days
And to think that I had saved all the readings I collected in my bookmarks for the day I finish my work, just to discover that I had miscalculated the long term powers of my vision and my patience. Disappointment is an understatement: long-term (in)compatibility could not be properly calculated. By the time I started to have time on my hands, the needed enzymes were dead and my health did not help. I had saved it all for nothing. Severe miscalculations overlooked all the important physical conditions, and I had assumed all the faculties remain as bright and operational. Now the numbers mean nothing. I forgot how to enjoy. I have 2 days to finish the book. What book? All I remember is that I have 2 days.
House 1
Why say things when they are out of fizz?
Birds green
When we repeat the same statement in different modes, on and on, it is only an indication that it is empty, and that we are trying to give it a volume by talking about it.
Double Birds
It is a good feeling to trim edges, to re-read and trim. But please let there be something when done…
Hanging birds
Aging is losing one’s appetite for the main dish one has been working on all along
Dream Fairy
I barely got a glimpse of her… before she disappear from my angle’s vision. She was still smiling when she turned and fluttered her wings. She had just deposited lucky pollen-like glittery dust, all over my hemisphere. She was light, now that she had emptied her sand bag . I saw her, my beautiful Dream Fairy with her slight smile.. she did not want me to see her. I could not get a full view. No need to thank her.. she knows..
the whisperer
My ideas at night have a ball. They dance and jump, then, when tired of all that gymnastics, they start at role-playing.. For fun, they turn into metaphors; and get disguised as my mom and her sisters, pretending to be hysterically alive; my mom whispers advice and kisses.
pain map
As if we have letters engraved under points of weakness in our bodies. Each time we grow or suffer, with every experience, be it happy or sad, we get to uncover one letter.. when all the letters are uncovered, our configuration is complete..
in sync
Last night when I was sleeping, my hands must have had a misunderstanding. This morning they refused to sync. I sat them down; both on my lap. Then pressed them against one another; I waited for their temperatures to sync. They sent me a sign… and I played the piano.. celebrating their reconciliation.
pain pain go away
The pain you feel in your body labels those in-between grey sentiments as definite saddening
sun and birds
And my body remembered the angle at which it should be standing by that door and the angle at which my neck should pose so as to be invisible to all others overlooking that spot from all corridors and windows and doors of that place.. blind spot ?
self resemblance
Here is another one… this button drawer will outlive me. Suddenly, when I was uncluttering my art drawers with collected whimsical unconnected objects, I contemplated these buttons untouched for a while, that I have had since forever. It came to me that when I die they will remain… probably. Then the thought got the shape of real words: “I will be outlived by these collected buttons and tassels and threads and laces and paints”. I need to write on the back of those containers a formula for peaceful self-exodus, like an auto execution plot/chemical composition, a self-exhaustion, a wako-style self-termination.. I don’t want them to burden others.. They were meaningful to me only.. to others they may be an utter burden. Please may you take this collective pill when I leave and self-explode in silence..
blind spot
And my body remembered the angle at which it should be standing by that door and the angle at which my neck should pose so as to be invisible to all others overlooking that spot from all corridors and windows and doors of that place..
unstructure
When I first discovered that the house does not need to start running when we wake up … that we could still be quiet and calm for many hours in the morning, and think and be productive.. that no one needs to make the beds as soon as they wake up.. that I could take it easy… that who needs to cook for lunch… in the early hours; that lunch can be taken at any time of the day. That no nap needs to be forced after lunch… that no one needs to turn on the tv for the evening news… I felt emancipated from forced commas.. However 30 years later these habits came back like a vintage dress would surface back into fashion… with a nostalgic grain of salt.. I found it cute and healthy… but this time out of choice. Then I thought maybe this structure is what made my bones what they are now. But I would NEVER want to subject my kids to such a military conduct at such a high price
deformation
I know about a deformation retract that I studied in 1991 in a class where the sun hit that seat next to that loving old Romanian professor who used to see in me someone special and smart. I had enjoyed listening to the description of the deformation retract in algebraic topology and my head used to go on metaphorical excursions concocting stories using that concept … I saw in it so much imaginary potential for playfulness in so many forms. I enjoyed applying that tool onto everything I saw in so many layers of meanings. So much so that I felt I had to get credit for the idea. I must have thought of this idea myself in a previous life. It made so much sense to me…. I loved it.. why is it coming back now? Could my present be a deformation retract of that moment..