A night of many
Tonight is the sort of night where I want to do everything at once--
Swim, call Waipo, practice my "flowers" on the straight sword, do cartwheels, eat less, eat more, have the coolness of melon without ballooning the gut, drink water in a train of glasses, floss, listen to new music, play old music, strum, hum, sing along, type on my typewriter, be a writer, be a bum, be a zombie, be a burst of fiery work, blow my heart out on a smokey flute, be good, be less good, be all the non-dichotomous things in between, kiss all my animals, open the window and stick my head into the pines (though that would be clearly impossible).
I ate too much noodle, packed too much noodle for tomorrow's lunch, eyed bananas wearily--all in the name of not crashing during 4 hours of teaching and then a breath before wushu wushu, you break my heart and my bones.
But it is quite fun to do those flowers on the straight sword. My right forearm is already more perky than before. But it feels awful to eat so much (not that I'm not grateful for the food) so the great black cloud doesn't pull itself down before my eyes just because our bloodline is "special" and would probably perish first in an expedition with little food across the Alps.
On a less indulgent note, Natalie Merchant's music is so addictively beautiful. Even if she doesn't change much, I love her. I might even love her more for it because there aren't many stable symbols in this world. And apparently, C. knew Leonard Cohen back in the day! Cool, man.
And black pepper is the perfect complement to the heady richness of oxtail. I can understand the spice drive to the East Indies much better after that last pot of daikon-oxtail soup.
Swim, call Waipo, practice my "flowers" on the straight sword, do cartwheels, eat less, eat more, have the coolness of melon without ballooning the gut, drink water in a train of glasses, floss, listen to new music, play old music, strum, hum, sing along, type on my typewriter, be a writer, be a bum, be a zombie, be a burst of fiery work, blow my heart out on a smokey flute, be good, be less good, be all the non-dichotomous things in between, kiss all my animals, open the window and stick my head into the pines (though that would be clearly impossible).
I ate too much noodle, packed too much noodle for tomorrow's lunch, eyed bananas wearily--all in the name of not crashing during 4 hours of teaching and then a breath before wushu wushu, you break my heart and my bones.
But it is quite fun to do those flowers on the straight sword. My right forearm is already more perky than before. But it feels awful to eat so much (not that I'm not grateful for the food) so the great black cloud doesn't pull itself down before my eyes just because our bloodline is "special" and would probably perish first in an expedition with little food across the Alps.
On a less indulgent note, Natalie Merchant's music is so addictively beautiful. Even if she doesn't change much, I love her. I might even love her more for it because there aren't many stable symbols in this world. And apparently, C. knew Leonard Cohen back in the day! Cool, man.
And black pepper is the perfect complement to the heady richness of oxtail. I can understand the spice drive to the East Indies much better after that last pot of daikon-oxtail soup.
posted by greenyew at 9:20 PM
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