irony in freedom

He stood, a point
on a sheet of green paper
proclaiming himself the centre,

with no walls, no borders
anywhere; the sky no height
above him, totally un-
enclosed
and shouted:

Let me out!

- Margaret Atwood, Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer

To see a world in a grain of sand...

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
-William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

(l)one(ly)

It made me start to wonder if there were other people so lonely so close. I thought about "Eleanor Rigby." It's true, where do they all come from? And where do they all belong?

- Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

A thing of beauty...

is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never 
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep 
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

- John Keats

Photographs by Elaine Crisostomo

hold your breath

I have been coloring my truths with particular care recently.
I have been fully aware of the lines, and kept within them, moving the pen in only two directions, neatly overlapped parallels at a degree.

Today is a recording of vitality, defiant living; following notions that if something exists, then nothing is an impossibility - thus hating quantative measurement and the ideal of “been done”.

Today is a precedent, an islanded precedent, a singular that seems all the more remarkable from my chair, as I watch two vehicles nearly collide, and the silent fury and relief within the respective vehicles. My interpretations allow. There are barely any marks on the road, however, only me and those that saw, saw.

We as humans, are unique as humans.

time

In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

Tell me about the dream...

Poem by Richard Siken
from Crush (winner of 2004 Yale Series of Younger Poets)
More by the poet here.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

We're all guilty of fantasizing, and often, we get so immersed in such fantasies that they eventually cloud how we think, act, and behave. And it consumes the very core of us. It seeps right inside as it takes over how we function.

The process and its very nature are unfathomable, immune even to the frugal efforts of the remnants of our rational side. We end up focusing so much on the what if's and the could/should/would have been's, forming additional imaginary scenarios; meanwhile, reality is being taken for granted.

Secretly, we wish the stars and planets would align in our favour. We hope and wish so much that we begin to rely merely on such unsteady attempts instead of pushing things into motion on our own.

I don't really know what I want.
But I do know what I don't want - to waste time waiting for something, someone that doesn't exist.

A Maxim

To live each day as if it might be the last

Is an injunction that Marcus Aurelius

Inscribes in his journal to remind himself

That he, too, however privileged, is mortal,

That whatever bounty is destined to reach him

Has reached him already, many times.

But if you take his maxim too literally

And devote your mornings to tinkering with your will,

Your afternoons and evenings to saying farewell

To friends and family, you’ll come to regret it.

Soon your lawyer won’t fit you into his schedule.

Soon your dear ones will hide in a closet

When they hear your heavy step on the porch.

And then your house will slide into disrepair.

If this is my last day, you’ll say to yourself,

Why waste time sealing drafts in the window frames

Or cleaning gutters or patching the driveway?

If you don’t want your heirs to curse the day

You first opened Marcus’s journals,

Take him simply to mean you should find an hour

Each day to pay a debt or forgive one,

Or write a letter of thanks or apology.

No shame in leaving behind some evidence

You were hoping to live beyond the moment.

No shame in a ticket to a concert seven months off,

Or, better yet, two tickets, as if you were hoping

To meet by then someone who’d love to join you,

Two seats near the front so you catch each note.

by Carl Dennis
FROM
The New Yorker

Kafka + Kuper

Very recently, my friend Georgia lent me her copy of Metamorphosis and Other Stories, which I've been wolfing down lately. A few days ago, while browsing around a bookstore, I decided to check out the graphic novel section and stumbled upon Peter Kuper. Incidentally, he illustrated various Kafka stories, which turned out to be really neat.

And to my delight, and maybe yours, Random House put up the animated version of Metamorphosis on their website. 

Check it out!

http://bit.ly/kafkakuper