(no subject)
a few nights ago i went to the skirball center to see a tibetan nun sing with a twelve-string guitar player. it was very much unlike all the other shows i go to, there were no pretentious people. it was mostly people forty-five years of age and their mothers.
the nun had more focus than i have seen in any musician.
once my mother decided she wanted a new chest of drawers. we went to little ethiopia to go to some thrift store, which was stacked and piled to the ceiling with peculiar things. it was never in order, which reminded me of my bedroom. it was owned by a kindly old jewish man named moshi, who had a heavy accent.
but when we walked in most everything was scattered around, the signs tattered and fallen. then, out from behind one of the piles walked a young man. we asked where moshi was, and were told that he had died last wednesday and that nothing was for sale anymore. there was fallen dust everywhere.
i took that photograph of the young man, holding the shutter speed open for a long time because of the lack of light. there wasn't much to say between us. we stood in awkward silence for a while, and eventually mom and i turned, said good bye, and left. that building is now a dismal cafe with white umbrellas jutting out of the tables.
sometime during spring break i went for some ramen with bridget, who stood by pastry, and jasper.
now i'll watch amelie until sleep finds me.
the nun had more focus than i have seen in any musician.
once my mother decided she wanted a new chest of drawers. we went to little ethiopia to go to some thrift store, which was stacked and piled to the ceiling with peculiar things. it was never in order, which reminded me of my bedroom. it was owned by a kindly old jewish man named moshi, who had a heavy accent.
but when we walked in most everything was scattered around, the signs tattered and fallen. then, out from behind one of the piles walked a young man. we asked where moshi was, and were told that he had died last wednesday and that nothing was for sale anymore. there was fallen dust everywhere.
i took that photograph of the young man, holding the shutter speed open for a long time because of the lack of light. there wasn't much to say between us. we stood in awkward silence for a while, and eventually mom and i turned, said good bye, and left. that building is now a dismal cafe with white umbrellas jutting out of the tables.
sometime during spring break i went for some ramen with bridget, who stood by pastry, and jasper.
now i'll watch amelie until sleep finds me.