27 September 2006

Take Tuesday Off The Calendar

If you could take away a day from the week, what day would it be?

I heard this question in a radio talk show a couple of nights ago. And I answered it in my head.

I cannot take away Monday. It's "Manic Monday." It's when one is either excited/hopeful in starting the week, and in some ways, a new life or highly frustrated for again starting yet another unremarkable seven days.

Wednesday, I cannot take away too. It has such character. It's the middle of the work and school week and Lisa's made a song with it, "Waiting for Wednesday." It's the day when you think of how you'll progress through the rest of the week, make it quite pretty, if not fantastic.

Thursday, Thursday is my favorite. It's the day before Friday. When Thursday comes, Friday becomes so near, meaning the weekend is so near. And just pronounce "thurs." Hear it. It's soft and smooth as rabbit's fur.

Friday? May be over-rated, but I, too, scream, T.G.I.F.! on that very day.

Saturday--well, we love it. Simply, excessively. I treasure a heartful of Saturdays in my life.

And Sunday is always blessed with that "Sun"--er--that clarity of sorts. It's my personal rest day. Lazy Sunday. Slow, sweet Sunday.

Therefore: Tuesday is the unspecial one. It simply lays there. It's like one of those acquaintances whom you can live without. Who has not stirred your story even ever so slightly. A verse that has not pierced its way into memory.

Tuesday, I had my heart bruised. By not knowing enough. By knowing too well. Both A and B. A fish in a bowl well aware of salted water.

You are not fair. You're rejecting me at the wrong time. Variations of no and silence would've been useful in the beginning when nothing's begun yet; when there's nothing to end.

24 September 2006

The Weather: "You Don't Have To Name It"

"You want God to laugh? Tell him about your plans." --Amores Perros

I just had a great Saturday with my brother. We went to Brittany Bay, ate burger for lunch, had coffee, then on the way home, while drizzling, I vomited on the street the liters of water I drank at the cafe.

At home, we watched, "Amores Perres," a film that reminded me of Sannrise--which reminded me that "hope is severed from expectation," as Ms. Michaels put it quite well.

It's nebulous, how I'm feeling, I don't know the things I have, I don't know them, because I don't have a name for them.

To name is to limit, to capture, yes, in a way. But what if I give a wrong name, what if I assume? I'll just force the circle into the square. But then I agree man makes miracles and that "everything is in everything else," as Mr. Paterson put it quite well.

And I like the advice, not having to name it. To just stand at an approximation, though so worried now, I like not being worried about an end. Dot dot dot.

I'm just scared, maybe. Fear is noble; it's quite cool, in fact. I'm lazy.

Let it be, let it be. But let is also a verb, an action as consequential as pull.

The present is quite disappointing, yet like you, would I really rather be elsewhere?

11 September 2006

I'm not good enough for this very common world

1. I cannot endure how something must be given up for something.

2. How my human wishes are being disapproved.

3. I cannot purely give.

4. Love is killing me, and without it, it's killing me all the same
and more. The way he and his absence torment me.

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