MENTAL MAGPIE: Watch/Crave/Muse/Laze/Confuse
Apparently, I am now a Blazers fan. As in the Portland Trailblazers. As in the NBA. As in Basketball. I have now watched three games. Sort of. I've become INTERESTED. How did this happen?
My brain is unwilling. Contrary to my body. Shoulders auto-tense. Butt auto-sleeps. Head doesn't really feel like staying upright, thanks very much.
I feel like eating potato chips. And cucumber sandwiches. And sourdough toast with grilled tomatoes and crushed pepper. And really good chicken curry. Also with toast. And EARLOBES. (This is a much more carnivorous impulse than a sexual one, I assure you.) And orange juice. And FOAMED UP elaichi tea, like the sort that happened when Christian reheated my tea with his latte maker thing at Barry's earlier.
I watched birds being madmen for about half an hour this evening. Like the ones back home but higher, and less graceful. It was warmish today, and raining. Like a half-hearted monsoon. And now, once again, (cue the motif), I want to be running through puddles, among old stone monuments, wearing rubber chappals and patiala salwars, and flying kites and falling into a kind of carefree, sufi love of self-loss, poetic abstraction, eternity.
Kaisa lage jo chup-chaap dono
Pal pal mein poori sadiyaan bitadein.
From the NBA to Urdu. Is this why I feel so stretched?
Trust me to use cultural dissonance as an excuse for academic incapacitation. Rather than, you know, sheer mystification. Intellectual exhaustion. Saturation. No more room for thought.
My brain is unwilling. Contrary to my body. Shoulders auto-tense. Butt auto-sleeps. Head doesn't really feel like staying upright, thanks very much.
I feel like eating potato chips. And cucumber sandwiches. And sourdough toast with grilled tomatoes and crushed pepper. And really good chicken curry. Also with toast. And EARLOBES. (This is a much more carnivorous impulse than a sexual one, I assure you.) And orange juice. And FOAMED UP elaichi tea, like the sort that happened when Christian reheated my tea with his latte maker thing at Barry's earlier.
I watched birds being madmen for about half an hour this evening. Like the ones back home but higher, and less graceful. It was warmish today, and raining. Like a half-hearted monsoon. And now, once again, (cue the motif), I want to be running through puddles, among old stone monuments, wearing rubber chappals and patiala salwars, and flying kites and falling into a kind of carefree, sufi love of self-loss, poetic abstraction, eternity.
Kaisa lage jo chup-chaap dono
Pal pal mein poori sadiyaan bitadein.
From the NBA to Urdu. Is this why I feel so stretched?
Trust me to use cultural dissonance as an excuse for academic incapacitation. Rather than, you know, sheer mystification. Intellectual exhaustion. Saturation. No more room for thought.