Clad in Blue: March 2012

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Another day, another..-

Ah. Intimidating to get to know a new family, isn't it? And then I realized how relieved I was to finally become aware of another whole different group of people. As in - not an extension of your current friends, not a mind-set that eventually falls into typical patterns. This little circle or figures falls a bit out of the ones I've already gotten excited about/tired of. These kinds of acquaintances float up once in a while, usually unexpectedly, and they usually either pass in a phase or slowly get integrated into my current life. Honestly, I'm hoping for the second.
Also, Nemi turned out to be right on time. (Started reading on my way home already.) Tom, do remind me about the theory about baby doves. I'll remember about the questions.
Kat.. yeah.. See you soon, I guess.

~~Why the fuck were you laughing?~~

Four leaf clover guitar picks.

Crazy world, crazy world, ye-eh.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Shit, that's a good one.

(Caro Emerald - "Back it up" acoustic)

Isn't it, though?

Also, I feel I'm being a fool. Again. ..and this is a phenomenon that's not recommended more than once.
But then again, I should really stop saying that.

The air was distinctly springy today. The sun was actually more than just warm, and the morning calm was periodically interrupted by a series of "eeeeennnngt"s, by which I mean the insistent whine of a roller. (Do bear in mind that I am continuously at a loss for the correct terms of various things in either english or latvian, so sometimes I just push one word over to the next language. I'm not alone in crimes like these, no judging.)

Bara för at få en kyss till. Du, din jävla- ..

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Spring Equinox

Today. 07:14. Everything's waking up.
Emī & I both decided to write down a wish with a drawn spring flower, and then throw it out the window at the lovely given time above. I must admit, I was a minute late, but my duty has been fulfilled nonetheless. Afterwards, I went promptly back to sleep.

I'm also re-reading Watership Down for .. the 4th time? I'm not sure, but it's been a while, and I'm enjoying it greatly. I keep remembering phrases and events that won't appear for a few chapters and giggling about them. I also must give Wise Child another visit, since both of these books are sort of on the same page. *coughlamecoughpun*

And I've been pondering about a verbal, (well, typed), attack I received yesterday, through skype. There are two versions to believe:
1. I have been a greater fool than I ever thought myself to be and my trust in my friends and humanity has been more or less lost.
2. My friend, who administered this attack, is more spiteful/revengeful than I first assumed. I'm not sure what the exact cause of all this is (although I have my theories), but I do think that she would not do this without one. What, for her, qualifies as a just reason, I do not know.
Both are very saddening.

I'm also turning to the healthy part of the foodstuffs again, or I'm attempting to. And see, little details like this, in fact, this whole blog makes me feel like such an egoist at times. I mean, I'm writing about me, me, me. I could try to worm my way out by saying it's a place I gather my thoughts so other people don't have to deal with my ranting, but I enjoy writing here very much. Eh.

Also, I wrote this some time back - "I'm not used to sleeplessness any more. Damn shame, in a way. I'm losing my tolerance for fatigue." Let me tell you, that beautiful week in Madona has taken care of this very thoroughly. Eheh.

(Also, do forgive me if I happen to repeat myself. Not much I can do about it.)

Monday, March 19, 2012

Ohgodwhyyy

There's this path, this little pavement walkway I walk nearly every day. It has this line of trees on one side, the branches overhanging nicely.. They've always done so, and I was relishing the thought of the leaves appearing and forming a lovely, delicately green canopy above. Today, as I was walking home, I was met by the sight of a truck a filled with a jumble of gray sticks and several men with chain-saws, brutally grinding away at those lovely branches. I mean, really? Just in time for spring. Those bastards. I nearly got a bit tearful at the moment, and walked the rest of the way home cursing them under my breath.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Return.

Well, it seems I'm back from a week in another world. Ģitāristu Sesija, I will love you 'til the end of days.
It's one of those tumbling, everything-happening-at-the-same-time events from which you emerge a bit dazed, happy, somehow wiser and most definitely sleep-deprived. Also, missing everyone already. Of course. Never really wanted it to end. ..Until next year, then.
(Yeah, this is one of the times I have too much to write, can't sort it all out atm, so I'll just write too little.)

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Would'ya look at that.

Also - http://9gag.com/gag/3212157

Also -

Also - http://slatest.slate.com/posts/2012/03/16/kony_2012_jason_russell_invisible_children_co_founder_arrested_in_san_diego_for_public_masturbation_intoxication_.html

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

I love living.

Haha, I do, I do, I do. It's fucking great t' be fucking happy. :D D'uh.
Mein gott, someway, somehow, everything is splendid. Except for falling out of favor regarding a couple of friends, but - I'm standing up for myself. Part of the grief I deserved, part - I didn't. I'm learning to stand up for myself. Not for some accepted belief, or something that others see as impressive, or my lovely, lovely friends, but myself. This time, it's me. (Also without the apology for egoism that often comes with such sentences, I will squirm no more.) I can accomplish. (And use italics at my own leisure.)
Got ma guitar, got my sketch/diary notebook, and blog, my books, ma *gasp* band, new haircut, some sort of decency in people around me, (f'in rare these days), a lovely girlfriend, a tinkling in my ears and an adventure in the future. (Namely, ĢS, but other stuff, too. Anything, really.) Happy.

Regard this Belgian beauty, if you will. Poirot would be proud.

(Selah Sue - summertime bring me joy | SoulKitchen)

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Fuckshit.

Yeah, I've been cussing inwardly for a while now. Sometimes cussing is just so nice. Seriously, it can be really pleasant. ~~google beautiful cuss words~~ Damn.

Love 'em.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Fuckin'ell.

I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. "Tev ir vienkārši jāiemācās neuztraukties par citiem cilvekiem." Yeah, right. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. I am a horrible person. Iamahorriblepersoniamahorriblepersoniamahorribleperson. Yay.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Toy cars, nail polish, and musical harmonies

... and bread crumbs on plastic plates, and unread stories on torn notebook paper by sisters, and pink scratches on rights arms by purring house cats, and unexpected calls to trolling telephones, confusing, or amiable apprehension, COMPLETELY unnecessary stuttering, non-matching blankets, untrustworthy alarms, jumbled reminders and carefully (for the time being) assembled calendars, the beauty of words and the blindness to it, emphasis in one way or another, or more, golden circles, endless tea, colleagues, and the absurd spelling of the word, hasty friendship and evil giggling. Ho-hum.

(Angus & Julia Stone - "You're the one that I want")

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by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here';

Love said, 'You shall be he.'

'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on Thee.'

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply.

'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them; let my shame

Go where it doth deserve.'

'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'

'My dear, then I will serve.'

'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste My meat.'

So I did sit and eat.

/ˈænʒənuː/

In the company of a spirit of light

a delicate queen of the darker nights

shimmering gently in a blue-walled room

with a promise of something, soon, very soon

I'd die for that promise, spoken out loud

instead, it stays hid in her glimmering shroud

so proud

so, here we are in a black-walled room

amongst smoke and pillows from midnight to noon

and I cannot sleep, for you keep on shining

and I cannot know for what I am pining

though a sin to compare to a creature so frail

I outrank you on the morality scale

your smile, so pale

yet here we remain in a rose-walled room

with a silent promise - soon, very soon

betwixt the legs of a creature of light

leading me through the darker nights

too many words to share

The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin
Dangling Man, by Saul Bellow
A Song Of Ice And Fire, by George R.R. Martin
De Profundis, by Oscar Wilde
Smoke and Mirrors, by Neil Gaiman
Moab Is My Washpot, by Stephen Fry
Män som hatar kvinnor, by Stieg Larsson
The Shell Collector, by Anthony Doerr
The Europeans, by Henry James
Vargbröder, by Michelle Paver
The Abortionist's Daughter, by Elizabeth Hyde
The Folk of the Fringe, by Orson Scott Card
Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Izshiguro
The Wonder Spot, by Melissa Bank
Dreamland, by Sarah Dessen
A Wrinkle In Time, by Madeleine L'Engle
What happened to Lani Garver, by Carol Plum-Ucci
Die Fließende Königin, by Kai Meyer
Herr der Díebe, by Cornelia Funke
Watership Down, by Richard Adams
A Girl of the Limberlost, by Gene Stratton Porter
Songmaster, by Orson Scott Card
Wise Child, by Monica Furlough
The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak
Isabel's Daughter, by Judith Ryan Hendricks
Uguns Nemodina, by Inga Ābele

The Crickets Have Arthritis, by Shane

It doesn't matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. It doesnt matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who's faith tells him God's hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. It doesn't matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death, or that every breath was either hard labour or hard time, or that I'm either always too hot or too cold. Doesn't matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas, and he's 9 years old. His name is Louis, and I don't have to ask what he's got.The bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The gameboy and the feather pillow booms like they're trying to make him feel at home because he's going to be here awhile.

I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told, so I hold my breath cos I'm thinking any minute now he's going to call me on it. I hold my breath because I'm scared of a 57 pound boy hooked up to a machine because he's been watching me and maybe I've got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he's bionic or some shit. So I look away like just I made eye contact with a gang member who's got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he's going to give me my life back the moment I've got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say, "Cigarette?"

But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all show and tell. He's got everything from a shotgun shell to a crows foot and he can put them all in context. Like, "See, this is from a shooting range", and "See, this is from a weird girl". I watch his hands curl around a cuff-link and a tie-tack and realize that every nick-nack is a treasure and every treasure has a story, and every time I think I can't handle more he hits me with another story. He says, "See, this is from my father" "See, this is from my brother" "See, this is from that weird girl" "See, this is from my mother". Took me about two days to figure out that weird girl is his sister, it took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her. And they visit every day, and stay well past visiting hours because for them that term doesn't apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. And he says, "The worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for." And he says, "The worst part about that is realizing there is nothing more they can do for you." He says, "Ice cream can't make everything okay."

And there is no easy way of asking, and I know what he's going to say but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. "Are you scared?" Louis doesn't even lower his voice when he says, "Fuck yeah." I listen to a 9 year old boy say the word fuck like he was a 30 year old man with a nose-bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he's got a right to it. And if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, then I want to teach him to swear like the devil's sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is 9 years old he says, "Please don't tell my dad."

He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don't have the heart to tell him, I tell him, "Not lately." and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn't know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I've never seen in someone who knows they're dying. And I'm trying so hard not to remind him I'll be out of here in a couple days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he'll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I've been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he's the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, "It's gravity that's been getting us down."

The truth is: there's not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there's too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there's a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can't find answers is because the search party didn't invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So there is no music, no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant. Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go, we don't always get a reply.

But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I'm going to remember you kid. I'm going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I'll say, "See, there's bravery in this world. There's 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that." So hold your breath, the same way you'd hold a pen when writing Thank You letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. And then let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex, the black eye will be worth it. Because what is your night worth without a story to tell? And why wield a word like worth if you've got nothing to sell?

People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you've got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a 'hard work, hang in, hold on' mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring that shit, I've had practise. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we'd be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God's hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn't, it wasn't because we didn't try.

I don't often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, "This is for you." I half expected him to say, "See, this is the first one I grew."

Tony: What is this?

The Blonde: Corn.

Tony: Corn? Corn comes in a little white box from Birdseye. Corn? Kansas is corny! Can ya eat it?

The Blonde: Yeah.

Tony: Can ya smoke it? Can ya drink it?

Can ya lie in it?

The Blonde: Sure.

Tony: Then lie in it with me.

The Blonde: Are you crazy?

Tony: Yeah, I'm crazy. I'm crazy in love with your blue eyes.. and your corn-silked hair. Your corn-silked hair. I'll never eat corn again without thinkin' about you. Canned corn, candy corn, popcorn, Crackerjacks! You're the prize in my box! And my box is this country. It's all tinfoil on the outside.

Corn and sweetness on the inside.

American Pop (1981)

Clad in Blue