I’m determined to start the new year with something. Not sure what, but a kind of change. So I’m rebuilding my blog.
I used to take time to sit down, and spread out the threads of experience onto the familiar livejournal interface. [shift]+[/] and a window pops up, ready to absorb whatever inanity that’s crossed my path. It wasn’t anything life changing, or theories or thoughts that could disrupt the world. Or even good poetry. But it was my space. And it was the only record that I have of who I was, the moment I inhabited, and it was frankly, quite good fun.
So here goes, another attempt.
I was expecting a spectacular sunset on 31 Dec. The setting was kinda perfect. Clear sunny skies, the horizon in front of my eyes, breaking sky and sea with a silver glittering line. But it wasn’t especially spectacular. Turns out my non-expert eyes were not quick enough to spot a thick branch of clouds hanging in the distance. So the sun disappeared without much call for attention. In pieces, behind an undistinguished body of something. But the moon was very, very round, and lit up everything so it looked like twilight till well after midnight. I think its face has changed somewhat. Used to wink more, and now it just looks more like a malevolent grin.
Everything kept changing colour everyday. The tide rising and falling changed the colour of the sea, from steely indigo to smooth green to childish clear turquoise to soft skin and everything in between. The monsoon clouds and determined sun coloured and streaked the sky as they liked.
Turns out 1 Jan had the most amazing day sky, no sunset or sunrise to speak of, but a gray confluence of persistent rain, light and heavy. And 2 Jan had the most amazing night sky. Completely black, to the point where the horizon disappeared and the sea and sky was just one thick drape of darkness. And when the moon rose from behind the small hill, fingers of light creeped up and grew like a white aurora.
I also realised I couldn’t see all the stars. I could only see a few close ones in my flawed retina, with halos and leaky brightness shivering them into pinpoints of existence. Definitely have to go for that eye surgery.
Lessons? Hmm.
Drama is unreliable. Cliches can only disappoint. Magic takes time to unfold. Don’t trust what you can only see.
I think I loved tide out more than in. I saw a green sea slug fly between rocks and dead corals. I didn’t know slugs could fly.
The men are performing in the streets
They are dancing
with wires in their coat
frozen in time
Like a shot in a familiar film
from another space and time
I am not here
my eyes are dulled and edged with fear
of dipping across a wrong line
My legs feel heavy with guilt at every step
for beating a pulse
without an echo
I steal a glance at my companions
each with their heart that frames another face
in another space
and I wonder how they seem to shuffle time
as though
the faces hold no iron
As though they are completely free
As though
I am performing on the street
Dancing with wires in my coat
Frozen in time.
It’s been awhile since I wrote. It’s been awhile since I heard the sound of my own voice. I’m sure it has been speaking. I’m sure it has been commenting on the insensibility and ludicrousness of the world. I’m sure it has been writing epic poetry to match the dirty yellow thunderstorms that meet the daily aching sun of late.
But I have been struggling to hear its words. They are inarticulate, like middle of the night speech bubbles. The only shapes they have are of emotive intonations. Sometimes a stream of question marks, sometimes abrupt strings of full stops, sometimes rising into exclamation marks, sometimes merely commas unending…
I’ve been listening to Cohen a lot recently. It makes me think of old comic books, like The Preacher and Sandman. Struggles with the mythology and morals of an angry, suffering, beautifully arrogant and mysterious God.
I recently said my only religion is feminism. It doesn’t make sense actually. I used to believe in God. I used to believe in mercy and kindness and retribution. Sin and light. I used to pray so much I would fall asleep curved, with my forehead touching my knees. I don’t think I muttered my sleep then. My nights were quiet conversations worthy of chapters in a holy book. Flaming swords, exorcism, words that shine with the fire of its own soul. I don’t have those kinds of dreams anymore.
It’s raining right now. The whole world has a grey, rusty watery skin, and the uneven tarred roads are pocked with millions of angry silver craters. Their footsteps are almost drowning out the sentences that are swarming all around me. I saw a spike of lightning on my way here, white and ultraviolet, slicing the indeterminate sky with its sudden clarity. For a moment, I wondered if it touched anything. A singular tree in an open field invades my mind. I live in a world of cinematic cliches.
And so quickly, the storm is losing its fervour. The thunder is beginning to sound like grumbles rather than apocalyptic statements. The wind has changed direction and my laptop is getting wet. Time to go.