tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-113815112011-11-26T17:50:38.031-05:00d.noreply@blogger.comBlogger13041100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-21189094086168940322011-04-15T16:13:00.002-04:002011-04-15T16:13:54.388-04:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-60559318080084918542011-03-16T21:18:00.000-04:002011-03-16T21:18:39.296-04:00

We just Skyped--him, at the Fifth Avenue cube (just getting off of work) via his iPhone, and me, in Lisboa, Portugal, on my MB.  Technology makes me so happy tonight. Sheer sheer joy. I'm also in love with Lisboa.  I need to figure out how to move here (however temporary).

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-43924163166034673162011-02-28T12:24:00.000-05:002011-02-28T12:24:20.271-05:00

I'm not 100% sure why/how I came to this conclusion, but only just today did I realize/consider that staples are such a barbaric/backwards form of technology. Most likely, I am wrong!

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-17531879459009590882011-02-23T14:21:00.001-05:002011-02-23T14:21:31.191-05:00

How do I get the pulsating to stop?  The reverberations of internal walls.  Tissue, sleek & glisten.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-28009092413108719922011-02-01T22:27:00.001-05:002011-02-01T22:29:22.341-05:00

Holy shit, I think I just realized that my lack of blogging perhaps has enabled my indifference. I've been really low recently, and with only myself (and rightfully so) to blame.  There is no ladder, only drudgery.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-71847694720395415952011-02-01T22:15:00.000-05:002011-02-01T22:15:05.890-05:00

I just realized that I sincerely miss blogging.  I wonder if I should return. On another note, during workshop of my poem tonight, I've now made it my goal (in real life secret) to try to write poems that prevent Jesse Garces Kiley to never use the word "litany" when he comments on my poems.  I love him, and this is my goal!  I can't mention it to anyone because I don't want anyone to be

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-67303480145698200662011-01-28T09:36:00.002-05:002011-01-28T09:36:51.426-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-34065222613235106632011-01-27T20:45:00.001-05:002011-02-01T22:17:59.586-05:00

The assignment was to write two different paragraphs that deal with different kinds of "urgency." I remember a story my parents told me once.  I was their first child; my mother had three children before she turned twenty-seven.  The story was: my mother birthed me, my parents brought me home from the hospital and put me down on a blanket laid on the ground of an empty room.  The window was a

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-27329107265560939642011-01-22T14:15:00.001-05:002011-01-22T14:15:40.765-05:00

Started swimming again yesterday.  First time since bike accident/knee injury.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-88745846097595583082011-01-18T10:01:00.000-05:002011-01-18T10:01:04.167-05:00

Probably the most extraordinarily written short story I've read in a long, long time. As a child Tim had learned to tell the difference between disappearance and loss.  Disappearance is best defined as the occasion for reappearance; loss is the diminishment of life.  The problem was that Tim had only learned this lesson in a way; in another way he hadn't learned it at all, and so, during all his

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-18539231354432012022011-01-03T16:09:00.002-05:002011-01-03T16:09:57.090-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-55191697281919802872010-12-25T11:47:00.000-05:002010-12-25T11:47:04.382-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-59209293846891456812010-12-17T14:17:00.001-05:002010-12-17T14:17:03.514-05:00

"I accept the universe."

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-18488394828531727862010-12-15T16:51:00.000-05:002010-12-15T16:51:10.955-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-38911794399980778392010-12-15T13:55:00.003-05:002010-12-15T13:57:41.876-05:00

Immediately Thinking toothless as salt: crimped rim. Overfed gateness. A little leaflet of tears lilts, falls out. Garden chewing on the stars and enclosed, the fissure you’re hearing sinks what you’re hearing in the days, toothless as salt. I guard you, I read until I am carved. * a hole that rotates into a day thus largely I survive apocryphal event and reason to hang her harp through the

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-82293404431601960902010-12-15T09:32:00.003-05:002010-12-15T13:58:36.631-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-24996449753831371542010-12-08T14:55:00.000-05:002010-12-08T14:55:03.480-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-61257177431874855442010-12-02T22:12:00.000-05:002010-12-02T22:13:33.978-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-36187460739872121172010-10-26T11:44:00.003-04:002010-12-15T09:34:58.096-05:00

A card that JB received.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-17108046436314131142010-10-14T12:17:00.001-04:002010-10-26T11:47:55.042-04:00

   

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-9427908443498292412010-09-27T02:02:00.002-04:002010-09-27T02:22:04.344-04:00

I lied when I said I couldn't lie.  This is both true and not true.  I'm actually pretty excellent at deceiving myself, at avoiding true statements that I don't like hearing the sound of, out loud.  And if someone asks me a question to which the answer is one of these, I get pretty dodgey. In this way, I do lie--I say other words.  Not that these words aren't true, but there is an inherent

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-52073792503325065012010-09-22T14:15:00.003-04:002010-09-22T14:20:32.713-04:00

"Women must destroy in themselves, the desire to be loved--The feeling that it is a personal insult when a man transfers his attentions from her to another woman. The desire for comfortable protection instead of an intelligent curiosity & courage in meeting & resisting the pressure of life sex or so called love must be reduced to its initial element, honour, grief, sentimentality, pride &

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-45440815976837302872010-09-21T16:10:00.003-04:002010-09-21T16:20:36.003-04:00

I hate that I cannot ever hide how I feel (or not feel).  That I can't slap on a "face" so that others won't notice that I'm out of sorts. This part doesn't make my angry: Krystall, one of the other CFs who work in the program offices with me on Mondays/Thursday noticed yesterday that I was quieter than usual.  That's all she said, and it was nice that she wasn't impose herself inappropriately,

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-80295832459970825832010-09-19T22:48:00.000-04:002010-09-19T22:48:00.475-04:00

When Lucie first said those words, I kept hearing 'split wrist ward.'  Not because it's on my agenda, but because the two are related, no?  In the same class of things, anyway. I ordered two thesauruses.  They're different, but both deal with synonyms.  Maybe this will help me kick my long-staid habits. I think my eyesight fails more and more.  I know the optometrist's prescriptions shows no

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-1731402022145505692010-09-19T12:48:00.002-04:002010-09-19T12:57:13.804-04:00

I tend to forget or try to sidestep my body sometimes (out of some small amount of shame for just existing, I suppose). For instance, yesterday in my first class to introductory boxing, we practiced our stances, and the 1-2 combination.  I am right-handed, so I figured I should do what the majority of the class was doing.  Except in reality, I do most sports and kinesthetic things left-handed. 

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-7962030147446993072010-09-19T00:26:00.001-04:002010-09-19T00:26:35.360-04:00

My heart hurts. Where is the nook.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-36365525601483548312010-09-16T22:05:00.002-04:002010-09-16T22:16:16.964-04:00

Everything is loosely (and not so loosely) associated & related of course I know this.  It took me about 45 minutes longer than usual this afternoon to get home (before the thunderstorm struck the sky) because 1/3 onto the Queensboro bridge, the path was cordoned off with CAUTION tape, and there were many police/emt/fire dept. vehicles.  And police boats in the East River below. I didn't take

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-81462456807712117402010-09-14T02:27:00.001-04:002010-09-14T02:28:36.459-04:00

It brings me great sadness to admit that I have returned back here.  I feel ashamed for many reasons and helpless. On many levels, many wrongfully so, I feel hurt and want desperately for a reminder of love, of warmth, of something.  Just a hug, I think, because I am trembling, lost, and alone again. Many things are excruciating to me, and knowing that I am insufficient, inconsiderate, and

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-46004460144919858152010-09-13T01:16:00.001-04:002010-09-13T01:19:24.887-04:00

My boss told me about one of her fellow classmates (I think it was her classmate, at least or a colleague or a friend, something in that general cloud) and how whenever they dined together, my boss (and others) would marvel at how this person ate so . . . defensively.  Her arms automatically shielded her food, and she essentially ate in a way that her spoon was kin to a trowel.  It turns out, my

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-9815942549128845182010-09-10T16:27:00.000-04:002010-09-10T16:27:51.345-04:00

I'm going to sign up for 6 Saturday morning boxing lessons at the gym.  Already I can see my future poem titles: "The Pugilist's Complaint" & other silly things.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-27945891940770841872010-09-10T15:54:00.002-04:002010-09-17T13:08:52.033-04:00

I can't remember if I've mentioned this already, but I truly love that in my round-trip commute to/from work/school during the week--every day I get to pass by the Museum of Natural History (morning), as well as the Guggenheim and the Met (afternoon/evening).  Every day. I haven't really taken the subway in a while, now.  Although, this morning I did feel feverish and felt like my knees were

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-24889096238697649422010-09-04T00:35:00.003-04:002010-09-04T00:39:44.673-04:00

Tonight I am sitting alone at a bar in Williamsburg by way of poor communication. I've napped but I cannot help but feel so extraordinarily tired with my life. Dramatic, yes. But I feel lonely. I can't remember the last time I felt this way. I know did often and for a long time, but all those points of my life merged into one line that is just a lump sum. I cannot tell if I have been lonely

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-41548482755142370122010-08-23T11:37:00.002-04:002010-08-23T11:37:31.892-04:00

For some reason today, my yogurt tasted faintly of butter.  I can't tell if I'm losing it as an eater, since hunger/poverty has affected me variously these past weeks. But also note that it is European style (i.e. creamy/thick) whole milk yogurt.  I hope it's not putrid, or rank or something. I hope my mouth isn't broken.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-59173887253381847252010-08-23T10:52:00.001-04:002010-08-23T10:53:49.400-04:00

I think most people have the same complaint about drudgery and work. I really have difficulty with work since the "program" ended.  It was an intense 5 weeks of work, and I thought that August 2nd and thereafter would be relief, but relief never came.  Only more onslaught of interminable tasks.  Sisyphean, really. And my frustrations are still the same.  Things don't change. I think every day

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-42201223146657313822010-08-23T10:37:00.001-04:002010-08-23T10:39:46.113-04:00

Yes, I would tell you that I love the rain, and all its permutations, damages, and flow.  It was pretty brilliant and sharpening to wake up to the darkness this morning (even at an unearly hour) due to the rain/storm clouds still hovering around NY. We got caught in very very heavy rain and sheets in our craving to go get egg creams and my "pink poodle" (hibiscus soda with a scoop of vanilla ice

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-9010696334588432952010-08-20T09:01:00.001-04:002010-08-20T09:36:16.398-04:00

In typing that title, I realize that it's almost a pun, but wholly unintentional.  A new adjective, for my life here. On my morning ride, I now count every dog I see.  Today was like 19 or 21, I forget.  But a lot of them.  I try not to run anyone over.  At work, I keep my fan on since there is no air circulation, and as a result, I sneeze at regular intervals.  I count those, too.  I don't know

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-57572355564300818522010-08-19T16:00:00.003-04:002010-08-19T16:43:33.967-04:00

What I did last Friday.  I ended up taking home this, this, and this. Yes, I got two articles with the same horse print.  I would have taken the polka dot cat collage blouse, too, but it wasn't yet put into production (or some excuse like that). They gave us limo service!  And we had lunch at Cafe Cluny, and spent the night at 60 Thompson, where their toiletries supplied were all Kiehl's

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-70465652956738276602010-08-19T14:27:00.002-04:002010-08-19T15:55:12.094-04:00

Sometimes, I am also full of great rage. I only have, after today, 1 more day of swimming left at the TC pool (before they close for the "summer" and reopen with the new semester at which point school will have started for me and I can start using the Columbia pool again). It's extremely aggravating when I go to workout and all the slow swimmers decide not only to remain in the only FAST LANE

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-48783653060030343872010-08-17T12:05:00.002-04:002010-08-19T15:48:28.287-04:00

"For only through assiduous repetition is it possible to redistribute skewed tendencies."

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-20377740036891937412010-08-16T16:57:00.000-04:002010-08-16T16:57:09.586-04:00

I think perhaps it is time to start writing again

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-56371605748214791092010-08-11T15:28:00.001-04:002010-08-11T15:28:13.034-04:00

Brave front kills me.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-8867690373392297162010-07-22T11:34:00.005-04:002010-07-22T12:30:16.079-04:00

Crave, crave, crave. It is like a carving feeling--funnily & anagrammatically enough.  To feel that desperate kind of want for something (physical materialization or not) creates this careful, meticulous carving, whittling, curling of wood, chisel of rock.  It eats, but in this geometrically gorgeous way. Like in the Mabinogi, where the longing made those folk waste away.  Grand Canyon. I

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-89108796682739065242010-07-22T10:57:00.002-04:002010-07-22T10:58:15.142-04:00

Yesterday, during the latter end of my Central Park bike riding w/ JDB, my hands got that sensation when they go dead--or asleep.  That feeling of them buzzing with less sensation than normal?  Then the odd pain which alarms? They didn't ever really get back to normal sensation--I ate and replenished what was lost in my blood donation, and even this morning, my fingers don't feel right. Today

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-34663023096356953532010-07-21T15:53:00.002-04:002010-07-21T15:53:57.862-04:00

All of a sudden I feel so hungry for human touch.  Like a random craving for popsicles or speck. Perhaps it was the iron I lost when I donated blood.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-1840355440409368462010-07-21T15:27:00.000-04:002010-07-21T15:27:22.666-04:00

I think today is my official 1 year anniversary.  I was confused yesterday. I feel so on edge right now.  The tip of my skin (everywhere) feels aflame, as though I'm being humiliated somewhere and I'm unaware.  Also at the edge of bursting with water.  The glass, brim, but not with the fullness of something great. If today was the anniversary of 1 year ago, then it's depressing for me to think

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-10594098504277020482010-07-20T23:53:00.001-04:002010-07-21T10:58:35.723-04:00

Update about this morning--over dinner Mindy told me she also thought the turkey burger had killed me this morning because she woke up and saw the sunlight coming through the window and she thought it was a sign that I had gone to heaven. JJC calls her 'paranoid Asian,' now. I finally got that flat fixed so I can ride to work tomorrow--I'm meeting Jason Daniel Baker tomorrow after work to have

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-23226891768184335152010-07-20T16:05:00.001-04:002010-07-20T16:06:58.766-04:00

I just realized that nearly 1 year ago today, I flew into La Guardia around 2pm, and met Jane outside their Greenpoint apartment with my big luggage. That night, we went to Williamsburg, and I had a sandwich and met some of her friends and watched a movie play in a (granite) park. I remember, too, what happened the night before I left.  The drive before I got out of the car at SFO. Showering,

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-1683701953324589352010-07-20T14:10:00.001-04:002010-07-20T14:16:13.842-04:00

God, it hurts so acutely sometimes--how much I miss SF. Genevieve sent me this menu for a place in the Mission I've never heard of/been to, and I'd forgotten exactly how wonderful the food scene there is.  I really do believe that NY cannot and does not compare. I wish I could quit school and leave and go back.  I hate struggling here.  It feels insurmountable, what I must continue to do here.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-78054288809693676392010-07-20T10:51:00.000-04:002010-07-20T10:51:45.584-04:00

When I woke up this morning and put on my cutoffs, I realized the knob of my hip was sore--bruised, almost.  But I hadn't worn anything over/around it for at least 2 days.  It just doesn't make any sense. I know I should stop listening to Beach House on repeat shuffle (all their albums) at work everyday, but I just don't want to listen to anything else. This suits me.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-90654208135063514682010-07-20T09:46:00.002-04:002010-07-20T09:48:08.172-04:00

Last night I was about to go meet Mindy on my bike when she was done with work, except my front tire was flat (good thing I checked it before I opened the door). She ended up taking the bike on the subway home, and I tried for an hour to replace the tube.  Getting the tire off was tricky at first since I'd never done it--but I figured it out!  The hard part was realizing that the replacement

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-89409435250838654722010-07-19T20:25:00.001-04:002010-07-20T09:51:02.438-04:00

For a very long time, after school starting Middle School until the latter end of High School, I hung out at the library every day. Even on the weekends, I'd trek to the library and come home with large tote bags full of books.  And chew through them faster than moths in wool.  Or the hungry caterpillar. I don't actually know if either creatures have any quickness of speed. But I stopped by

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-13057662548948368522010-07-19T10:02:00.000-04:002010-07-19T10:02:03.491-04:00

I love JGL so much.  I didn't know!  But I must have.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-31011362430137565092010-07-18T23:04:00.001-04:002010-07-18T23:06:14.659-04:00

It'll be difficult as I don't believe I'm coherent, having experimented with leftover alcohol in the kitchen and trying to finish any/all bottles so we wouldn't have to pack it.  I made some kind of lemon juice/honey/rosemary whiskey drink.  Refreshing.  Like a cold toddy? It's been a while since I've felt this unwound/relaxed.  Doing nothing/anything/whatever I feel like.  Thinking only for

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-58087347057657687532010-07-16T15:35:00.001-04:002010-07-16T15:36:03.222-04:00

Sometimes, I remember what it was like 2 years ago--my life in SF.  I can't think of many cornerstone defining moments of my life (everything is tumultuous and constantly shifting up and down my forever cosine life)--but when I think of what I did, and who I met, and how I lived in SF--it's no wonder I want to return and always be there. I miss the friends I made, then lost, then maybe am

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-72302510828494022102010-07-15T15:19:00.003-04:002010-07-15T15:24:17.513-04:00

--taken from A.O. Scott's review of Inception, mostly because it was funny and strangely apt maybe/probably not. Mostly I feel twitchy, not quite melancholy.  But there is this overwhelming thing cast--like a rodent made of wires, and how the cave of the torso is carved to exist in space of any place.  Always empty.  Unable to hold. I think perhaps, partly fallout from the weekend, but more

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-62481479330768385422010-07-14T10:42:00.000-04:002010-07-14T10:42:49.307-04:00

I've forgotten how much I love blueberries.  My simple joy, really. And we're moving to a big space where I can do laundry whenever I want, and have an oven big enough for my cookie sheets (I think).

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-89718381941414017822010-07-14T10:31:00.000-04:002010-07-14T10:31:25.225-04:00

I think it's okay if I now turn to contacting them as a crutch for my anxious/scary moments. What's really great is that Genevieve will be visiting in early August for about a week (we'll probably take a trip to Boston)--but we'll be doing that thing I won (Leifsdottir is flying G out, paying for 1 night hotel, we'll have lunch w/ designer, visit showroom, then get styled-out and keep $1k of

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-3710705752064164752010-07-13T21:38:00.000-04:002010-07-13T21:38:03.568-04:00

I love my closest friends. I'm glad they are always here for me, especially when I have a hard time expressing my emotional state. I miss my old friends whom I've let the friendships slack with time and my self-absorbed self-pity. I've forgotten that I have to keep these things here for me. I want to be well and they make me smile on any random day.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-11101914985300266602010-07-13T13:46:00.000-04:002010-07-13T13:46:04.858-04:00

Except, I only get to imagine the rain outside--hard rain, I'm told.  There are no windows where I sit, and none nearby. I guess I can't ride home today. I wish I could be at home already--I cannot wait to just be lazy in bed, with True Blood & love.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-13723264142355010732010-07-13T11:02:00.000-04:002010-07-13T11:02:08.825-04:00

Today is better than yesterday, but I still feel very hesitant and fearful.  I'm worried that I won't remember to be careful all the time. Slippage.  I don't want to be anything less than good.  I do feel so much at stake.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-12637488015749559152010-07-12T23:36:00.008-04:002010-07-13T00:20:14.495-04:00

to a large extent, that kids are resilient.  Which isn't to say that they aren't impressionable, or that they won't remember the events which pass them or hit them, hard. But I'm not resilient.  Everything sinks, and slowly releases, and the mess that gathers throughout the body, I cannot reclaim.  No, I don't want to.  But I need to take responsibility. I feel like I've been living in an

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-28364998838802108502010-07-07T10:06:00.002-04:002010-07-07T10:06:54.018-04:00

I didn't realize this when I painted my nails last night (2 different colors, one new--a risk), but my nails match the colors of my feather necklace. Once I get around to finish decorating my office, I'll do a virtual tour for you.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-51887429564915582062010-06-25T10:16:00.001-04:002010-06-25T10:17:29.422-04:00

I forgot to talk about how on Tuesday night, I corralled a large group to caravan/get dropped off in Northampton since I/we were tired of drinking at the University Club, where all the Juniper activities are. Besides, Northampton is supposed to be bitchin'.  It was refreshing to be at a local bar, and to have mix/many company. Four of us decided to go dancing at the 90s hip hop venue down the

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-9024568713457508232010-06-24T16:50:00.000-04:002010-06-24T16:50:52.355-04:00

I was worried about getting stuck in the rain on my bike, but only now (in the comfort of my dorm room) has the rain gently let loose. I brought my camera, but haven't wanted to take the time out of my experience to capture moments.  It seems to make much more sense for me to just let all things seep.  For me to remember them through the haze of my mind, however faulty. The friends that I have

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-53095717453351780892010-06-21T09:10:00.000-04:002010-06-21T09:10:34.410-04:00

It feels so wonderful to be out of the city.  My dorm here is right next to some deep looking woods, and things are much lusher than NYC. I'm here and I brought my bike--I hate walking and especially since it's much more humid here, it's nice to zip to the places where I'll be having class or activities. Last night I checked-in to my dorm room, which is actually a lot of space (nothing like the

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-86720758870743786152010-06-14T00:18:00.002-04:002010-06-14T00:22:37.066-04:00

Somehow, on a whim, I went to Fabulous Fanny's yesterday and found a duplicate of the French vintage glasses that I lost at the Athens airport (while traveling to Kythera) in May of last year. This is many sorts of amazing.  I bought them (a steal at $50), and immediately got lenses from a recommended place in Chinatown, and now have my (old) glasses back, plus an updated contact lenses

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-74300172673454457512010-06-14T00:13:00.000-04:002010-06-14T00:13:00.851-04:00

There is a fog out tonight, and it is the first time since leaving SF that I have felt it.  It is so strange to have such a familiar in this other place.  I wish I were back in the former.  I've been wishing that often. As much as I enjoy my life here in NY, it can't--won't give me that catch-hold feeling of SF.  The feeling I got every time I was on the Bay Bridge at night, coming back into the

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-73244485187537120932010-06-03T09:36:00.000-04:002010-06-03T09:36:01.617-04:00

Every day is an up/down hill battle.  I asked JB seriously the other day if he thought I was bipolar and his response was a yes and retroactive yes.  And he never addressed it by name previously, I think, because it wouldn't have been helpful for me. I constantly feel like I'm trapped or like I'm losing.  And when the days are good, I can't for the life of me, imagine the terrible ones.  And

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-87015098773298168972010-05-27T22:23:00.002-04:002010-05-27T22:23:45.655-04:00

Self-disgust, loathing, & wanting to be lonely. I realize how much I do prefer this place.  In spite of everything.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-16091738461453874122010-05-27T00:38:00.001-04:002010-05-27T00:41:14.328-04:00

I've been sad. So many of the times I feel as though I repeat facts as if to remind myself that I should feel happy. I think I lie to myself daily. Tonight, I just want to give up, and let go to the familiar which was a constant. To want the grace of it--even if it once hurt me, often. But I wanted it, unrelentingly. I am meant for no place and no person. I am a liar. I want each year to

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-18048684593308867362010-05-20T01:15:00.000-04:002010-05-20T01:15:24.273-04:00

I successfully made almost the best (dark) chocolate ice cream I've ever eaten (I still think that Double Rainbow holds the title). Amazing.  It took a while--a day to freeze Penelope's attachment, then I made the batter, which had to chill overnight, then churned the batter then had to freeze it again overnight. Worth it.  Next up: whiskey ice cream, salt and pepper ice cream, and probably

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-56358231647286873802010-05-20T01:05:00.004-04:002010-05-20T01:06:32.523-04:00

See you back on Monday.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-64668365157747506492010-05-19T11:19:00.001-04:002010-05-19T11:19:57.572-04:00

So I was confused/flustered this morning because after putting on my helmet, I couldn't find my second glove. Only after riding to work and taking off my helmet did I realize it was on top of my head (sandwiched by my head and helmet) the entire time. :(

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-49832716659974451272010-05-18T13:46:00.001-04:002010-05-18T13:47:59.652-04:00

Buttons close to my house!

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-87470557718672134652010-05-18T13:40:00.000-04:002010-05-18T13:40:53.037-04:00

2 days until I fly to Vegas for my much needed meals at Bouchon. I'll be a quarter, I guess. There will be: Bouchon (5/20, 5/22) Spa day (body scrub, massage, wrap) + use of spa facilities (win!) Boulud's Brasserie? Burger Bar swimming at the 'beach' roulette + drinking Jorge Cortez from SF champagne campaign Saturday brunch I already don't want to come back to NY.  I booked this trip in

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-71867304024995270092010-05-18T13:36:00.002-04:002010-05-18T13:36:58.150-04:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-30386426546203766182010-05-18T13:34:00.000-04:002010-05-18T13:34:41.703-04:00

It blows my mind that I was in Greece a year ago.  In the days leading up to May 1, 2010, I felt anxious and so melancholy--the past year's events and my busy-ness takes a toll that I forget (or neglect) to acknowledge. I found myself feeling antsy and earnestly wishing that I could be back in Kythera again.  To wake up beside the chickens and olive tress.  To walk to the shore and drive to some

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-64258195556258791122010-04-20T19:43:00.001-04:002010-04-20T19:44:15.030-04:00

I suppose there are small markers along the way--so I know that I'm making progress, improving.  Some days, like yesterday, I feel like I'm making the most of my time here--that it's not a waste of my money, time, and all the anxiety that comes with worrying about money and not having any time. My mantra of how it takes a toll.  Overall, things have been more even, which is a relief. The

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-81525787343502132952010-04-09T14:47:00.001-04:002010-04-09T20:50:04.447-04:00

So there's this running joke what a drunk me, or a more exuberant me, or anything that is me, except heightened (difficult to imagine, I know) is a me called Dan Nguyen.  It's funny mostly because it's so sexist to think that a more forceful, aggressive, etc. version of myself would be a man version, but it kind of stuck and the joke is funny every time we make reference to Dan's attendance at a

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-45923243221281145552010-04-05T00:20:00.001-04:002010-04-05T00:22:51.968-04:00

My newest great happiness is cycling along the Hudson at night, feelings the wind come toward me, cool off of the water. There is only the silent, peopleless path along the Westside Hwy, and a quick ride home. It's been a long time coming, my white horse.   1984 Marinoni road frame--one I found that is finally small enough for my short legs.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-9426490472199051172010-03-28T20:03:00.001-04:002010-03-28T20:05:29.464-04:00

As the burden of responsibility begins and resides with me, I cannot figure out how to escape the guilt, the pain of loss, and how to diminish feelings for punishment day by day. I wish I could say, "Yes, I am getting better." These things win, and are here to stay. I am okay, if unwell, but please, do not worry as this is the same familiar, we are friends, like you and I are friends. I'm

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-17144549975847839482010-03-26T16:53:00.000-04:002010-03-26T16:53:27.170-04:00

I had a bad dream this morning and when I woke up, there was blood in my bed. I don't know how I'm managing, really, to do anything now.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-67669128638040702772010-03-26T10:59:00.000-04:002010-03-26T10:59:20.922-04:00

My eyes look like they've been crying, except I haven't been crying.  My left eye doesn't open all the way, and is swollen from something.  My dreams were sad, though.  Can that be a clue? Also, today gravity feels a lot heavier than it usually is.  It hurts me more than normal. I don't have enough hours.  Problems with time.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-89350624673285309752010-03-25T15:42:00.001-04:002010-03-25T15:42:12.026-04:00

Just realized that I'm wearing 2 watches (clock faces) today.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-15601474078686056122010-03-24T12:49:00.002-04:002010-03-24T12:52:06.883-04:00

There are always little cues, reminders that I should continue, stay alive, fight--reminders because I get so lost that I forget what I am doing (or, trying to do.)  Futil-blind. Early last week, I ran into one of the graduate assistants who also work for the program where I work (at Teachers College).  She told me she ran into a Columbia MFA student at her Buddhist meeting (she's from India and

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-3625116006439554572010-03-22T12:39:00.002-04:002010-03-22T12:42:55.874-04:00

"The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory." --Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory Or at least, one translation of it as seen in Kafka on the Shore. I rather like starting, and writing with an epigraph then removing it after the poem is written.  Something about hiding the seams.  Hopefully, seamless, not confusing.

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-55253739474877126042010-03-20T22:51:00.005-04:002010-03-22T12:40:20.471-04:00

While it's quite warm out, and I had the whole day to myself, alone--and free, I ended up not going to Central Park to read, and not getting tacos in Midtown, and just--making breakfast, reading, and napping. I haven't done this in so long. Am rereading Kafka on the Shore: I've worn away so much of my own life, worn myself away.  At a certain point I should have stopped living, but didn't.  I

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-24889903225249215732010-03-18T03:42:00.003-04:002010-03-18T03:55:34.200-04:00

I wish it were not true. I'm tired of the struggle. There is no reason for it, and yet it is inescapable for me. I'm tired of hiding, the nightmares, the painful tug of my body fighting sleep and all the weariness. Sick of my whining, and the sight of myself. Loathing cannot encompass. I am not meant to endure this. I should know by now that I am meant to be isolated, alone, and that I have

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-30339464768912299462010-03-11T11:43:00.001-05:002010-03-11T11:43:06.101-05:00

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-40855458541507229292010-03-11T09:58:00.003-05:002010-03-11T11:07:58.482-05:00

flashbacks PTSD daffodils potted in a small pot at the farmers' market self-inflicted wounds to the head Today it was overcast, but my dress is sheer and printed all over with chrysanthemums.  The sign today that echoed the feeling of the bus driver conversation from yesterday was a young schoolgirl no more than 6 with her mother (they had matching honey hair), stopping in front of a shop

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-22121045437192838242010-03-11T01:08:00.002-05:002010-03-11T01:20:03.512-05:00

I never want fear to cripple me. Lack of control, inability is my biggest fear. I cannot escape it, but perhaps that's the key. Today I had to commute crosstown by bus. The sun looks so different when it hits the east side. As though it learns something I can't know when it reaches over the East River. It was fresh today, and despite my lack of sleep, exhaustion, and low motivation for life, I

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-66297489076036743272010-03-06T01:53:00.001-05:002010-03-06T01:58:02.029-05:00

I hate that I feel wounded all the time. It sounds so dramatic--of course I'm not to be trusted. I wish I could stow this feeling, the feelings away. That I resent the trap I've made of people around me. That I cannot escape and just fonder in every motion. Loathing is not neccessary because it's always been here. I cannot tell you what I want, what I expect. That I would not dare, would not

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-86690202654077445752010-03-04T11:51:00.000-05:002010-03-04T11:51:29.202-05:00

On close examination of your urine sample in our lab there some evidence of a parasite. This type of parasiste is generally picked up in North Africa, Sub-Saharan Africa, Middle East, Turkey, India. Have you traveled to any of these places recently (past 2-3 yrs)? This parasite is easy to treat with a course of medication taken over one day. So if you do have it, we can easily get rid of it

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-27462053858109152132010-03-01T02:48:00.004-05:002010-03-01T03:14:16.344-05:00

I stand still, try to ensure myself that my things are still gathered, that my actions from this point are not rash.  I struggle to be good, but I am not very close.  I do not know where I am, so I keep everything near, and continue until I can see. Make promises so that you cannot unravel. I scare so easily.  Brittly.  I am not meant for any place.  I tire of the struggle, of only recognizing

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-2493981270838401742010-02-28T23:55:00.002-05:002010-02-28T23:55:39.537-05:00

I Would Remain by Night with YouI would remain by night with you who, having held me once, wrapped everything I knew into my sleeping body’s hold and held fast and stayed. You shuttled in sleep against me and away, not sleeping, beached and exhausted by wine and rushes from another life whose body my body meant to alter. But I am wayfaring and recently wrecked; I understand the cost of pulling

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-65901267408879057592010-02-28T02:52:00.000-05:002010-02-28T02:52:50.628-05:00

It is strange, and funny (in a dry, hoarse, & hollow way) how much I can still hurt.  That the loss is not irretrievable, that it returns again and again, despite my attempts to avoid meeting it.  Because I have already cast it.  Yet it is always there when I come home.  When I sit at home, or nod my head wearily on the subway. It is inescapable. I know that maybe sometime soon, or not, I won't

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-45440399050728601682010-02-27T02:27:00.001-05:002010-02-27T02:29:40.039-05:00

I'm well. It was a snow day (no work) today so I went out for Minca ramen, then stayed home and cooked/baked, watched a movie.I had a long talk with Tim after workshop this past week, and we talked about my feelings about my writing/poetry--and he really tried very hard to help me "get to the bottom of it." We devised a plan for me to refocus/realign my writing sensibilities and to get me on

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-30831168423560210752010-02-25T05:41:00.010-05:002010-02-25T06:29:36.835-05:00

It seems silly to begin. Or absurd. Instead of sleeping beside you, I have terrible, ragged thoughts. Thoughts of quietly getting a dull knife from the kitchen and sitting with it in the bathroom. Of sitting, on the tile, with it. In these thoughts, I only slice down one forearm, and I think about the time it takes for draining to happen. On whether or not it would feel like getting thinner, or

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-38871012212376102192010-02-17T00:13:00.002-05:002010-02-17T00:33:22.553-05:00

The same refrain. I'm not running away from anything, I do not hide. Only the rawness which comes consolatory, bitter, and never sweet. Of course I did this to myself. I do not seek a place for blame.I only wish it were not inescapable. That there was an end, a bearing forth of labor to some resting place. I only wanted love, love, in the unfathomable way I could not ever lay out.I have

d.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11381511.post-88142921823203859372010-02-05T12:52:00.003-05:002010-02-05T12:55:57.150-05:00

More of a, Oh Crap! moment.Quite a handful of fellow poet-students here have done readings, or have their work(s) published in various places. I've done neither, because it hasn't yet felt right for me, and, I want to be really really particular in what I choose (even though, really, they have to choose me).Anyway, I really want to be in Pool Poetry, and I realize that I just missed their

d.noreply@blogger.com