i am part of the livejournal revival
i would just like to say that, despite the palpability of my forgetfulness, i will always remember the astonishment of snowfall.
today i sat at the kitchen table with a cup of ginger tea & two of my short stories & talked on the telephone to my bestfriend in saskatchewan about the "deep freeze" the prairies have fallen underneath. there are snow dogs around the sun; when the air reaches a certain temperature the light from the sun cannot penetrate the density of the molecules as they hang, static, frozen. the people on the earth see reflections, white refractions of light, around the sun. what are we thinking, believing that we can tame this land.
i sent the short stories that were sitting on the table to graduate schools in new york. i put bee stickers on the envelopes. really, but what i really want, this minute (next minute will be different) is to move back to paris, live next door to hanna, watch her paint and sculpt and ask her questions while i write on an ironing board and drink nil rouge tea. then we will pop to the green grocers and boulangerie to buy food for dinner (bread, fresh figs, chevre, roquette) and, leaving the washing-up in the sink, we will go to the cafe underneath the apartment and drink red wine and a little coffee to help the dreams. in the morning i will go back to work at the bookstore and think about a sicilian road-trip, a week in turkey.
this evening i bought notebooks with my mother, went to a dinner party, walked across a park in rosedale in the slush. i was asked what i "wanted to be when i grew up." i wanted to say "i'm doing it, lady. i'm grown, and i'm doing it."
i started a community arts/literary magazine type of thing in halifax (www.heroyalmajesty.ca). i am conducting a preliminary poll. "what does art mean to you?" in 500 words or less.
GO.
today i sat at the kitchen table with a cup of ginger tea & two of my short stories & talked on the telephone to my bestfriend in saskatchewan about the "deep freeze" the prairies have fallen underneath. there are snow dogs around the sun; when the air reaches a certain temperature the light from the sun cannot penetrate the density of the molecules as they hang, static, frozen. the people on the earth see reflections, white refractions of light, around the sun. what are we thinking, believing that we can tame this land.
i sent the short stories that were sitting on the table to graduate schools in new york. i put bee stickers on the envelopes. really, but what i really want, this minute (next minute will be different) is to move back to paris, live next door to hanna, watch her paint and sculpt and ask her questions while i write on an ironing board and drink nil rouge tea. then we will pop to the green grocers and boulangerie to buy food for dinner (bread, fresh figs, chevre, roquette) and, leaving the washing-up in the sink, we will go to the cafe underneath the apartment and drink red wine and a little coffee to help the dreams. in the morning i will go back to work at the bookstore and think about a sicilian road-trip, a week in turkey.
this evening i bought notebooks with my mother, went to a dinner party, walked across a park in rosedale in the slush. i was asked what i "wanted to be when i grew up." i wanted to say "i'm doing it, lady. i'm grown, and i'm doing it."
i started a community arts/literary magazine type of thing in halifax (www.heroyalmajesty.ca). i am conducting a preliminary poll. "what does art mean to you?" in 500 words or less.
GO.