god it's taken years to love bjork. she's always appealed to me only ephemerally. perhaps it's my recent turn to more progressive music, whether rock, metal, or electronica. i remember the first song that i tasted from her: joga, sent to me by The Artiste out of my three unilaterally assigned surrogate brother/mentors. i first learned the word ' ( Read more... )

"i'm in a library reading naipaul. he is, at the moment, speaking of the void that characterizes the so-called true politician--the politician's tragedy. the doer whose dreams are vague, become vague, and then decays. the hero who is only proved by power, made whole by it. the colonial child. i'm also listening to pink floyd's 'the division bell'. ( Read more... )

ralph singh. we are homeboys, you and me. for you too have described the Flounder, the Abolishing of Landscapes, the god that Eludes, and the threat of the Good Start. perhaps the Luck that Intervened, as well. alas... we are mimic men, and i'm barely three chapters in.

there's something deeply human in our crossing. you bore witness to a moment in which i had monumentally caved in. me in my arena of battle, you in the gymnasium of the game that you genuinely love. and we hadn't even made eye contact then, not even the first impression. but somehow you were receptive. you sensed something that the others didn't, a ( Read more... )

We have art so that we shall not be destroyed by the truth.

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you who treads softly, too softly. today is a new dawn with its own arrangement of nimbi, of gaseous curlicues, and still you go through the motions. gestures and words that are not dangerous at all, that are safe. a most tragic conservatism. but one must philosophize with a hammer. it ( Read more... )

intrigue--what a curious word. the prolonged syllable bespeaks reflection, charm, and the basking rumination in these. and the strange abutment at the end allows the 'g' to perform like a 'q', its alter-ego, or reincarnation, or desired appearance, or disynchronous self. one wonders why it is a lost art, a forgotten sensualism ( Read more... )

being raised in a defunct household where human crying was not so much catastrophe as it was ritualistic, home was always an inert word. and it's not that sorrow or abandonment or death made it this way, but rather the naked fact that things were never whole. they didn't fall apart--they were always already disparate, cut up by an apartheid of ( Read more... )

you learn a lot about a person when watching how s/he is with children.

to be heavy. it is to have weight, to affect as corporeal significance. to be human. because the otherwise, well, that's nihilism.

"listen. do not have an opinion while you listen because frankly, your opinion doesn't hold much water outside of Your Universe. just listen. listen until their brain has been twisted like a dripping towel and what they have to say is all over the floor ( Read more... )