Planetarium

J and I went to the Planetarium last Monday. Imagine sitting in a dome-like cinema with the movie being played overhead. The show was entitled Journey to the Stars and was narrated by Whoopi Goldberg. (Click on the title for the site! http://www.amnh.org/rose/spaceshow/journey) We found out that each of us contains about a teaspoon of the very first stars. And that only 1% of all stars turn into supernovas; Live fast, die young, I should say. :)

Born from stars, in the end we will lose ourselves to the wind; mere stardust risen from the grave.

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Atmospheric Disturbances

Went to the Strand Bookstore the other day. J and I went crazy, yet AGAIN. I'm hoping to collect enough books to last me until December. I'm already anticipating how moving to that town will heighten my loneliness.



So..anyway, I'm currently reading this book. The cover's awesome! And the reviews won me over:

"A relentless exploration of how a man could fail to see clearly the woman he loves"

"Galchen's dark and comical mystery is a clever take on the ways of love, longing, and overanalysis can drive you absolutely nuts"

Sounds quite promising, doesn't it? I'm looking forward to how this story will unravel.

There's hope after all, L. The writer's a DOCTOR and an MFA graduate! It's really possible, 'ey? I'm rooting for you.

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APW Festival

So J and I are looking forward to the weekend! Three days of music, alcohol, and friends!

Just like home.

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Puzzle Project

Just passing through one of Coney Island's streets in search of a bathroom. I marvel at this city, pulsing in color.

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The Way of It

This is the way of it, wide world over,
One is beloved, and one is the lover,
One gives and the other receives.
One lavishes all in a wild emotion,
One offers a smile for a life's devotion,
One hopes and the other believes,
One lies awake in the night to weep,
And the other drifts off in a sweet sound sleep.

One soul is aflame with a godlike passion,
One plays with love in an idler's fashion,
One speaks and the other hears.
One sobs, 'I love you,'and wet eyes show it,
And one laughs lightly, and says, 'I know it,'
With smiles for the other's tears.
One lives for the other and nothing beside,
And the other remembers the world is wide.

This is the way of it, sad earth over,
The heart that breaks is the heart of the lover,
And the other learns to forget.
For what is the use of endless sorrow?
Though the sun goes down, it will rise tomorrow;
And life is not over yet.
Oh! I know this truth, if no other,
That Passionate Love is Pain's own mother.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919)

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Just awful.

So..this is me, feeling terrible. It's awful to confirm the worst of my fears. I should've expected something better! Why did I have to expect THIS. I don't want it to come true.

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Hello? World?

Any semblance of presence over there??? I'm not that far away!

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MOMA

For more pictures, click on the title of this post.

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Finding pieces of you in the MOMA

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The stars are out tonight.

The stars are out tonight.

We are drawn to turn our gazes upward--to look at brightness, somehow defiant at the heavens looking down at our mediocrity. Answers constellate themselves, depending on what we want to see. Trace-the-dots. How often we mistake their combined form for another, only because we don't know where to look or what to see! They seem to be grateful for the distance from our questioning gaze, wise to avoid questions that are answered by experience. We were born from stardust after all.

They continue to burn, oblivious to the answers we've assigned to them. And we continue to gaze at their enduring death, yearning to burn through life like the glorious moment of a rebellious falling star. Maybe it's the pursuit that matters--the blaze of light across the dark sky. A Shooting Star! A Falling Star. (Close our eyes, make a wish.) We are changed by the desire for something beyond THIS. Something MORE than this.

Maybe because the stars burn so so bright, we're meant to witness only their dying, lest we perish in their terrible beauty. Incapable of surviving such brilliance, they tell us--THIS, should be enough...for now.

Relieved, they are glad for our silence. Enough for tonight. We pry our eyes away with difficulty. They are just stars after all. And we just hope for meaning in such tragic deaths.

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J!

I can't believe you find time to demand time! hahahaha!!!

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The Other 1

The train doors open and close at every stop. People come in, just for a moment, until they disappear on their way. No traces are usually left behind. Neither wet footprints nor perfume withstand the crowds.

However, on the PATH Train to JSQ today, smudged blood colors the floor as I step inside. Dark leather shoes settle above it, as ordinarily as if it were kitchen tiles. A homeless person calls out for mercy, "We can all become homeless. Please feed me." But people avert their gaze, in a weak attempt to feign blindness. But we all heard him. Passing through the aisle, his arm brushes against my shoulder. I am too busy looking at the stained floor. Finally, the train doors open. People rush out. The color red smudges every shoe.

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A Moment

The clouds had made a crimson crown
Above the mountains high.
The stormy sun was going down
In a story sky.

Why did you let your eyes so rest on me,
And hold your breath between,
In all the ages this can never be
As if it had never been.

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861-1907)

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Those Who Love

Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Dierdre, Iseult, Heloise
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak of at all
Of fragile inconsequent things.

And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

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