In the Dark Part of the Night

The words of someone I know.

"I like the dark part of the night, after midnight and before four-thirty, when it's hollow, when ceilings are harder and farther away. Then I can breathe, and can think while others are sleeping, in a way can stop time, can have it so – this has always been my dream – so that while everyone else is frozen, I can work busily about them, doing whatever it is that needs to be done, like the elves who make the shoes while children sleep."

- Dave Eggers (A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius)

Sometimes a tingly nose means there's an angel in the room. But sometimes a tingly nose means you're on the verge of a cold.

The single step leading up to the glass door would forever be branded into his brain. Turn around and run the other way.

I saw it in his eyes. He didn't want to leave, but he also couldn't stay. So I made the decision for him. I shot him in the foot.

Things I Love that are not Age-Appropriate

I've been reading and loving posts on Secret Society of List Addicts. Hilarious. Can't pull myself away.

Personal Sample: List of things i love that are not age-appropriate.

1. mmm. beets. for the young and pink at heart.
2. sweater clips. were they ever in? can't have too many of those.
3. broaches. yes i have some dandy pass-me-downs from grandmothers and great aunts. they're beautiful and underestimated.
4. pearls of course.
5. potpourri. never thought i would say this, but i have a collection of old, dried-up, decrepit roses and flowers given to me by loves and hates, dating back to 1995.
6. china cups. wish i could have afternoon tea out on the terrace every day. but first, i guess i'd need a terrace.

You?

She Walks in Beauty Like the Night

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o’er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o’er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

Byron

A Serial Novel: Happiness is an Option

I'd really like to give this a shot. I stumbled upon this serial novel by Stephen Emms when reading his Guardian post about Falling out of Love with Murakami. I think I feel the same way. Ok, Ok. I've only ever read one Murakami novel so I'm not exactly being objective. But I've never quite understood why people rave about him so. I'm pretty sure I started with the wrong Murakami...But even still. I tried to love him. I really did. Only the love affair was over before it began. It's like that for me sometimes. I open the book. I'm all expectations. I read the first sentence. I re-read the first sentence (a must), and very quickly begin to drift away. It's partly attention deficit - yes. But it's also that the novel isn't that intriguing to me. I felt the same way about On Beauty by Zadie Smith. I wanted to be friends with her. And I got about 1/3 through that novel. But in the end, it just wasn't enough to keep me going. Nevertheless, for Zadie's sake and mine, I've decided to shelf the book and try again in a couple of years. My attention span will hopefully mature with age and fingers crossed her writing does as well.

Back to Stephen. Love the title of his story: "Happiness is an Option". Now if only the rest of it can live up to such a grand statement.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

I think I want to go back to reading more poetry.
Is there anything wrong with that?



Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

T.S. Eliot

Eating Animals: Why Eating Matters

I'm pretty curious about this book. It's probably no surprise to my two readers, that I really (really), like Jonathan Safran Foer's writing. And so, and as such, I'm a bit nervous about attempting this non-fiction piece. I really don't want to give up eating meat.

The New York Times piece by JSF.
More posts about it on The Huffington Post.

I Don't Even Like Muppets

Ok, so lately, I seem to be a bit fixated on Dave Eggers. It's just a phase. I'll get over it.

I didn't read Where the Wild Things Are when I was young. In fact, I didn't read any of the books that many of my peers probably read when they were children. No Dr. Seuss. No Winnie-the-Pooh. No Chronicles of Narnia...You get the picture. Sure, my mom read us stories - most especially quite scary stories from a United Nations story book that she had - but I never actually had the opportunity to pick up a book and read it on my own. In English. Mainly because in my prime childhood reading years, I was busy emigrating and immigrating.

Reading Where the Wild Things Are as an adult is probably very different. I can relate to the child on a deeper level. And as a new mom, I can feel the sting on both sides of the pendulum. I love the Maurice Sendak original. But I'm also very much loving the Dave Eggers version, The Wild Things. I'm sure there are many insightful write-ups and critiques about both books. So there isn't really much I can say that hasn't been said. But the movie affected me quite unexpectedly. It's interesting to me that the Wild Things, a bunch of huge muppets, were able to portray the painful dysfunction of a family, the dynamics, the pulls and pushes, far more brilliantly and profoundly than any movie I've seen with actual people. Can it be? I don't even like muppets.

Is it all over-hyped? Who cares. If it inspires you even in the slightest, it can only be good.

"He rode one-handed, then no-handed, then with his head slung back, squinting at the emerging stars. He whistled quietly to himself, then louder, then hummed, then sang out loud. It was a quiet night and he wanted to slash it open with his own voice." - Dave Eggers

Lily

By Dave Eggers.

"Tell me your secrets, she tells her friends. Tell me anything, she says, because I will forget it all. And the friends laugh. They know she is serious. She is a good friend because she will listen, and ask questions, and commiserate, and she will tell no one their secrets, because she will forget their secrets almost instantly. Because though she does care about her friends, she does not care about their secrets."

Addictions

There are some writers and they have some books that I wish I could devour like a perfect piece of chocolate. Their words linger in my heart. And when the last page has been turned, I feel as though I have just said goodbye to my dearest friend. A sense of sadness comes over and overshadows the happiness of having known the person.

Water's Words

Let’s move. Or let’s sit still.
Let’s hurry. Or take it slow.
Let’s rush like there is no tomorrow, fumbling, rustling, stilling.
Let’s give and take both.
Let’s feed. Let’s search. Let’s flow to the deepest of sources.
Let’s be, without doubt or choice.
Let’s create.
Let’s wait for the visitors of our shores.

Today

I am a bathtub without any water.

For a Certain Someone

"The crown of literature is poetry. It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of the human mind. It is the achievement of beauty and delicacy. The writer of prose can only step aside when the poet passes."

W. Somerset Maugham

Seaweed

On a beautiful summer's afternoon, I was out for a walk by the sea. There was a light breeze and a subtle smell of salt. Just enough to make me crave barbecued sardines. It's moments like these when I knew the world was magnificent and all was right. The waves were calm but steady. And as if it were an inevitability, I dipped my right foot into the water. Yes, all was definitely right with the world. So I entered with both feet. Slowly, my body acclimated to the water. And further and further I went. Fully immersed, I began to float. Weightlessness and surrender hand in hand. The sky met the water and the water met me. And it seemed we were getting along fine but for the momentary distraction. A seagull flew by. Pointless I thought. My body began to teeter and my balance was lost. Weightless no longer, I searched for the sea floor but instead the sea floor found me. It found me like an old friend who you cannot remember; wanting to chat about times gone by. I tried to explain that I had to go, lying about a previous engagement for which I was running late. But the friend would not relinquish its hold. The sky met the water and the water met me.

Not Here At All

I have a friend who’s here, but not. Who’s clear. Who’s near. Who’s dear. But not.
I think of this friend every now and again. His words, his thoughts, his work permeates my world. But not.
I know he is happy. So I do not wish him more, in words. But in my heart, I wish him more than he knows.
We once had an argument over a tea cup. But not.
And the shattered pieces of that tea cup scattered our hearts.
Strewn, though I meagerly attempt to pluck the pieces, they seem hidden beyond my grasp. But not.

Dry Spell

Hello dear blogosphere. Where have you been?
It's been a while. I haven't been reading anything lately. And therefore, haven't been writing either. The driest of spells in the driest of wells. I have just begun Middlemarch by George Eliot however. Hope to be inspired. Must admit so far, it's been a difficult read. But I enjoy a good challenge. The most wonderful surprise has been that the book is actually written by a woman! How come no one told me?

Maybe. My Most Favourite Word.

There's something about the waiting. Something that gives life and takes it all at the same time. In a minute, anything and everything is possible. Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven. And then one; The scarriest and most hopeful number in the world. It only takes one second to have everything. And one second to have nothing. In that one second, the possibility of an entire life can flash before your eyes. In that one second, you still have 'maybe'.

A Wild Sheep Confusion

I have finished the book. Definitely worth the effort. But someone please, put me out of my misery - tell me what it's about!!! Does the sheep and his 5-pointed star stand for humanity? Does he stand for all that has decayed in religion? Or does he symbolize Christ? If you were to ask me whether it was a friendly sheep or an evil sheep, I would lean towards evil. But a sheep, by nature, is such a docile and peaceful animal. It stands, typically, for all that is good. That is unless it is a wolf in sheep's clothing.

I will not reveal the ending. I have already said much too much.