This is an email I wrote to a man I am amazed to know, the day after I saw Nine Inch Nails in Inglewood, California. It captured the images I saw perfectly, so I am including it here.
Just silliness, but I got to go see NIN last night at the Forum. Such
an odd conglomeration of things from my past... the sound engineer
leaning over his board, thrashing and banging his head as he got into
the music, just like my Drug Ex used to do. The sea of people opening
up into mosh pits below me. The smell of different types of weed, of
beer on the steps growing stale. Music of the past 20 years of my life
rumbling and stabbing through me. It was like I was at the Anti-Club
again, sitting in the corner writing bad poetry, staring at people
through my curtain of cigarette smoke and chickory-cinnamon coffee.
And it was like I was on stage again, the music singing only to me,
and through me, and I was the music and it was me, and there was
nothing. Nothing else and nothing. Alone in a bowl of 18,000 people.
Damned normal for me.
At one point the screens showed blood spatters on a wall. And the
music, the instrumental being played, had chiming bells over all...
and instead of the bells being in a minor key, they were in a major
key... happy... I don't know which song was being played, but it was
such an opposite, and it was perfect.
This might be the basis for my NaNo novel this year. I have a month and a week to go still, so who knows what dastardly tales will demand my attention between now and then. (Can you possibly be any more vague, Sydney? Well, yes... yes, I can.) The papers due for History and the start up of Sociology might derail my novelling this year, but at least that will be worthwhile.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Silent Wilderness
**Prompt from All_Unwritten**
Prompt 144
*Silent Wilderness*
The blacks and the blues and the grays shadowed each other in her mind. A silent wilderness of despair, shot through the center with a red gash of longing. It used to be a place of such warmth and conviviality for her, but words spoken by others, to others, about others... these had taken the sun away and left the landscape in shadow. She had once loved coming here, but now she seemed to come only at the end of the day as she had been told to do. It is cold and it is lonely, and she waits now only for the springtime and his return.
Prompt 144
*Silent Wilderness*
The blacks and the blues and the grays shadowed each other in her mind. A silent wilderness of despair, shot through the center with a red gash of longing. It used to be a place of such warmth and conviviality for her, but words spoken by others, to others, about others... these had taken the sun away and left the landscape in shadow. She had once loved coming here, but now she seemed to come only at the end of the day as she had been told to do. It is cold and it is lonely, and she waits now only for the springtime and his return.
Dark House
**Prompt from All_Unwritten**
Prompt 153
*Dark House*
Just a little light inside me
It burns bright, burns bright
Just a little light inside me
Burnin' bright in the cold of the night
Singing to herself, she huddled closer in the corner, pushing nightgowned flesh farther into the slatted wood. It was silent now; maybe Mah had gone to bed finally. The girl hoped this was the case, but knew better than to make a sound or move from her position. She tucked her knees closer under her chin, toes curling in an effort to make her slight frame even less.
She looked into the blue-black of the room, seeing nothing in this dark house but sparklers and shades of her own imagination in the gloom. She could hear the kitchen clock tick away the seconds until morningtime, when Mah and Daddy would come back downstairs and begin baking biscuits and frying eggs. Then Daddy would sit at the kitchen table and read the national news, and hand her the Sunday funnies so she could take them and open them full on the livingroom floor, half-remembered scenes with Silly Putty playing themselves out in her mind as she read about Dagwood and Blondie.
That would probably be another six or seven hours from now. The girl swallowed, and huddled into herself more, pulling her thin nightgown over her toes to keep them warm.
A movement, a sound in the doorway. She froze, not even daring to let go her breath. She didn't think it was Mah; Mah turned on lights to find her. She hoped it wasn't one of the ghosts. Her heart beat so loudly she knew its drumming was attracting the thing in the hall. She tried to remember the words to her Guardian Angel prayer, but felt her brain turn to stone as icicle fingers seemed to wrap around it. Two huge eyes flashed close to her, picking up light where there was none, inspecting her. Something cold tried to push its way into her left cheek and she was to terrified to scream.
Her face was suddenly wet and warm, and softness pushed against her thin arm. Her tears began flowing as she wrapped her limbs tightly around the family's Irish Setter who knew what had happened, and knew the girl needed someone right now, even if it was only a dog. The Setter laid down, still tangled in the girl's arms, and gently pulled the girl down as well, knowing the girl would fall asleep with her head at the dog's belly. One red-furred paw rested protectively on the girl's shoulder as her silent sobs faded into the even breathing of slumber.
Prompt 153
*Dark House*
Just a little light inside me
It burns bright, burns bright
Just a little light inside me
Burnin' bright in the cold of the night
Singing to herself, she huddled closer in the corner, pushing nightgowned flesh farther into the slatted wood. It was silent now; maybe Mah had gone to bed finally. The girl hoped this was the case, but knew better than to make a sound or move from her position. She tucked her knees closer under her chin, toes curling in an effort to make her slight frame even less.
She looked into the blue-black of the room, seeing nothing in this dark house but sparklers and shades of her own imagination in the gloom. She could hear the kitchen clock tick away the seconds until morningtime, when Mah and Daddy would come back downstairs and begin baking biscuits and frying eggs. Then Daddy would sit at the kitchen table and read the national news, and hand her the Sunday funnies so she could take them and open them full on the livingroom floor, half-remembered scenes with Silly Putty playing themselves out in her mind as she read about Dagwood and Blondie.
That would probably be another six or seven hours from now. The girl swallowed, and huddled into herself more, pulling her thin nightgown over her toes to keep them warm.
A movement, a sound in the doorway. She froze, not even daring to let go her breath. She didn't think it was Mah; Mah turned on lights to find her. She hoped it wasn't one of the ghosts. Her heart beat so loudly she knew its drumming was attracting the thing in the hall. She tried to remember the words to her Guardian Angel prayer, but felt her brain turn to stone as icicle fingers seemed to wrap around it. Two huge eyes flashed close to her, picking up light where there was none, inspecting her. Something cold tried to push its way into her left cheek and she was to terrified to scream.
Her face was suddenly wet and warm, and softness pushed against her thin arm. Her tears began flowing as she wrapped her limbs tightly around the family's Irish Setter who knew what had happened, and knew the girl needed someone right now, even if it was only a dog. The Setter laid down, still tangled in the girl's arms, and gently pulled the girl down as well, knowing the girl would fall asleep with her head at the dog's belly. One red-furred paw rested protectively on the girl's shoulder as her silent sobs faded into the even breathing of slumber.
Monday, September 22, 2008
हेल्प! इ'म इन हिन्दी!
उम्म्म्म्म्म्म्म्म्म्म
इ सीम तो बे व्रितिंग इन हिन्दी... इफ ओनली इ'डी पेड मोरे अत्तेंशन व्हेन जीवन वास त्र्यिंग तो टीच में तो रीड।
What that says:
ummmmmmmmmmm
I seem to be writing in Hindi... If only I'd paid more attention when Jiwan was trying to teach me to read।
Okay, okay... That was interesting, for about three seconds, I guess.
I recently had my hair cut much shorter than I normally do. It is still considered long, but I would say it only goes a few inches past my shoulders, whereas it used to be down to my waist. I was tired of it catching on things constantly, the ends breaking off and just looking ragged no matter what I tried to do. To save my somewhat-tired sanity, and look halfway decent for interviews, I had it cut.
Today I tossed it up into a claw-comb, laughing at the way it just sticks up in the back now, instead of tumbling over the plastic fastening it to my scalp and half hiding it. With windows down, sunroof open, and my crazy ass driving up the 22, one lock came loose and has curled itself delicately around my face, hugging the jawline on the opposite side of its roots.
It is a pleasant feeling, this stronger sense of femininity.
इ सीम तो बे व्रितिंग इन हिन्दी... इफ ओनली इ'डी पेड मोरे अत्तेंशन व्हेन जीवन वास त्र्यिंग तो टीच में तो रीड।
What that says:
ummmmmmmmmmm
I seem to be writing in Hindi... If only I'd paid more attention when Jiwan was trying to teach me to read।
Okay, okay... That was interesting, for about three seconds, I guess.
I recently had my hair cut much shorter than I normally do. It is still considered long, but I would say it only goes a few inches past my shoulders, whereas it used to be down to my waist. I was tired of it catching on things constantly, the ends breaking off and just looking ragged no matter what I tried to do. To save my somewhat-tired sanity, and look halfway decent for interviews, I had it cut.
Today I tossed it up into a claw-comb, laughing at the way it just sticks up in the back now, instead of tumbling over the plastic fastening it to my scalp and half hiding it. With windows down, sunroof open, and my crazy ass driving up the 22, one lock came loose and has curled itself delicately around my face, hugging the jawline on the opposite side of its roots.
It is a pleasant feeling, this stronger sense of femininity.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Food - Pluots: Nectar Of The Gods
After seeing them all summer in Trader Joe's, I finally picked up some pluots.
After keeping them in my refrigerator all week long, I finally pulled one out and sampled it.
Oh
My
God
I do believe I could live off of pluots, d'Anjou pears, Asian pears, raisin bran with flax, and garlic bread for a good, long time. Oh, and chai tea and coffee.
After keeping them in my refrigerator all week long, I finally pulled one out and sampled it.
Oh
My
God
I do believe I could live off of pluots, d'Anjou pears, Asian pears, raisin bran with flax, and garlic bread for a good, long time. Oh, and chai tea and coffee.
A Return Entry
I have been trying to upload a blog from a program (CoffeeCup) onto a webspace I have, and they just don't seem to want to play nicely together. It's not needed immediately.... I am planning on using it for NaNoWriMo. And I don't even really need the blog program; I just wanted to use it. Me being lazy and whatnot.
The past few weeks I have seen me really wanting to write again. Maybe, just maybe, I will be able to swing a low-end laptop for myself before November. That way I can take my nano-ing with me everywhere I go, and not have to deal with writing things out by hand, and then transcribing them into my Word while I would much rather be chasing down the flits of the plot hovering just out of my reach down the brick path. Yes, that's how I see it right now. If it sounds a bit SecondLife, I would have to blame my enjoyment of SL on that.
And no matter what its detractors say, SL is good for opening your eyes to the real world around you. I see things in terms of textures a lot more than I did, and I think I have caught more interesting (and of more interest) photographs in my camera than I would have without being a builder and photographer in SL.
It is a lovely, sunny day here in Southern California. Last night the air became cold and smelled heavily of the ocean... a scent I will never dislike. Now is the scent of old wood houses and water, dust in the alleys, someone's toast. A crow is cawing as it circles above our buildings. Someone is running a small-speed lawnmower, tires of a pickup crunch the gravel and sand in the alley outside my window, and a woman calls in Spanish to her kids.
That's my world, at least during the day on Sunday.
The past few weeks I have seen me really wanting to write again. Maybe, just maybe, I will be able to swing a low-end laptop for myself before November. That way I can take my nano-ing with me everywhere I go, and not have to deal with writing things out by hand, and then transcribing them into my Word while I would much rather be chasing down the flits of the plot hovering just out of my reach down the brick path. Yes, that's how I see it right now. If it sounds a bit SecondLife, I would have to blame my enjoyment of SL on that.
And no matter what its detractors say, SL is good for opening your eyes to the real world around you. I see things in terms of textures a lot more than I did, and I think I have caught more interesting (and of more interest) photographs in my camera than I would have without being a builder and photographer in SL.
It is a lovely, sunny day here in Southern California. Last night the air became cold and smelled heavily of the ocean... a scent I will never dislike. Now is the scent of old wood houses and water, dust in the alleys, someone's toast. A crow is cawing as it circles above our buildings. Someone is running a small-speed lawnmower, tires of a pickup crunch the gravel and sand in the alley outside my window, and a woman calls in Spanish to her kids.
That's my world, at least during the day on Sunday.
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