words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Sunday, January 19, 2003
What are we but shadows of ourselves? So much more stays dormant inside of us, parts of us we can't hear, and only know about by premonition. Who tells us to keep it down, to stop looking for it? Where in our adolescence do we read the message to stop seeking ourselves but be satisfied with the copy we have made of the current culture? All through it, right? message after message that we are not good enough but instead have to follow the crowd to find what's right and good. That's a sham, and I've always known it; so have you, haven't you? and yet both of us let it tempt us into inactivity, the mundaneness of performing useless tasks, moving one mountain of sand three feet from where it currently sits, wishing that our noses weren't quite so large or that our muscles were a bit larger. I've been trapped, you've been trapped, and no matter who i shake my fist at, the only one to blame is the one who listened to those messages. so I'll shake my fist at myself, yell, demand that I go back to searching because I haven't dug deeply enough yet, because I haven't built the man I know I could be. A great author, Tille Olsen, wished that her daughter would be stronger than the shirt she was ironing, limp underneath of the massive power of society. Which one of us reaches our full potential? Which one of us understands the love we have inside of us? Which one of us can help ourselves, or even admit that we need help from outside ourselves? There is so much more inside me; there is so much more inside you. Maybe we can help each other find it, and learn to wear it.
1:06 AM
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