tentative post
Shortly I will be 38, 22 months younger than my brother when he died.
We returned from australia yesterday morning, though then it was 8 hours earlier the next day, the 11th in sydney, in terms of my body. I wondered if crossing the international dateline might make it so I would not menstruate...but no, by then, I had probably just stopped, though one can never tell for sure.
Once I finally finished The Fatal Shore (the day before we left), I turned to Buddhism. I found a new word for wandering: samsara. This was before deciding to return to a vegetarian path on a second-floor restaurant across from the Sydney Opera House but after eating sausages with my french toast at a cafe near Manly Beach. It was strange how easily the decision came to me. Once I decided I don't really want to suffer anymore, I thought about our abandoned night tour of the fairy penguins on Kangaroo Island and, just like that, I don't eat meat again (google has no images of "again" or I'd provide you with a link).
But for anyone interested, you can buy this magnet of Charles Bukowski.
All of this is so tongue-in-cheek but really...
As I wrote to Ted while I was away (though I did not have access to Google images at the time): "I have not written as much for you in my journal as I had planned. During and after heron island, I have been having a kind of hard time emotionally. Doing that "away" from my "regular" life has given me quite a bit of insight about how much of my depression issues are internal, how many are external, and what internal and external triggers can set off and sustain themselves. I've come to some very clear understandings and am feeling like I have some clear work to do...some of it simply aimed at loving myself. I want to talk to you about this in greater depth but it would be easier in person."
In-person (tm)...wow...the implications.
Wildlife observed, stepped on, fled from, exploited, appreciated, and discoursed of incessantly, but not necessarily in chronological order:
Kookaburra--of which aussie natives teased me mercilessly for my pronunciation ('twas a perverse linguist's wet dream to be humiliated so)
Curlew--pronounced [kjurlu] for those in the phonetic know
Wallaby (with and without a joey)--in the whitsundays and KI
Kangaroo--eerie. cf. Octavia Butler's novel Clay's Ark
Sydney bats
Koala--omg!
Pig
rays...skawy to fwoat ovah
Cuttle Fish
and more
Absolutely the finest vegetarian (or other) meal I've ever had at Aria.
My love for Mike remains real...painful...evolutionary (and yes I know the meaning of 'melodramatic'...I prefer 'eucalyptic' thank you).
My love for Ted grows...
All else that matters are languages...and the people who sign and speak them
on yachts, in poverty, over pedicures, through art and resistance to culture and art, in intimacy, after death, to the self, to animals--wild and snuggled beneath knees, antipodean, mythological, Australdarwinian, fantastic, constructed, and eaten...
to arha...the eaten one, the textual one
We returned from australia yesterday morning, though then it was 8 hours earlier the next day, the 11th in sydney, in terms of my body. I wondered if crossing the international dateline might make it so I would not menstruate...but no, by then, I had probably just stopped, though one can never tell for sure.
Once I finally finished The Fatal Shore (the day before we left), I turned to Buddhism. I found a new word for wandering: samsara. This was before deciding to return to a vegetarian path on a second-floor restaurant across from the Sydney Opera House but after eating sausages with my french toast at a cafe near Manly Beach. It was strange how easily the decision came to me. Once I decided I don't really want to suffer anymore, I thought about our abandoned night tour of the fairy penguins on Kangaroo Island and, just like that, I don't eat meat again (google has no images of "again" or I'd provide you with a link).
But for anyone interested, you can buy this magnet of Charles Bukowski.
All of this is so tongue-in-cheek but really...
As I wrote to Ted while I was away (though I did not have access to Google images at the time): "I have not written as much for you in my journal as I had planned. During and after heron island, I have been having a kind of hard time emotionally. Doing that "away" from my "regular" life has given me quite a bit of insight about how much of my depression issues are internal, how many are external, and what internal and external triggers can set off and sustain themselves. I've come to some very clear understandings and am feeling like I have some clear work to do...some of it simply aimed at loving myself. I want to talk to you about this in greater depth but it would be easier in person."
In-person (tm)...wow...the implications.
Wildlife observed, stepped on, fled from, exploited, appreciated, and discoursed of incessantly, but not necessarily in chronological order:
Kookaburra--of which aussie natives teased me mercilessly for my pronunciation ('twas a perverse linguist's wet dream to be humiliated so)
Curlew--pronounced [kjurlu] for those in the phonetic know
Wallaby (with and without a joey)--in the whitsundays and KI
Kangaroo--eerie. cf. Octavia Butler's novel Clay's Ark
Sydney bats
Koala--omg!
Pig
rays...skawy to fwoat ovah
Cuttle Fish
and more
Absolutely the finest vegetarian (or other) meal I've ever had at Aria.
My love for Mike remains real...painful...evolutionary (and yes I know the meaning of 'melodramatic'...I prefer 'eucalyptic' thank you).
My love for Ted grows...
All else that matters are languages...and the people who sign and speak them
on yachts, in poverty, over pedicures, through art and resistance to culture and art, in intimacy, after death, to the self, to animals--wild and snuggled beneath knees, antipodean, mythological, Australdarwinian, fantastic, constructed, and eaten...
to arha...the eaten one, the textual one