Monthly Archives: October 2012

for you

“Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, that animal warm and waking into a brand new world.”- Jeanette Winterson
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I fancy I am Silver, and you were once my mother swept away by greedy winds, those winds that never stopped howling for endless ransoms.
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Little Bird by Lisa Hannigan

Your heart sings like a kettle
And your words, they boil away like steam.
And a lie burns long while the truth bites quick,
A heart is built for both it seems.
You are lonely as a church,
Despite the queuing out your door.
I am empty as a promise, no more.

When the time comes,
And rights have been read,
I think of you often
But for once I meant what I said.

I was salted by your hunger,
Now you’ve gone and lost your appetite
And a little bird is every bit as handy in a fight.
I am lonely as a memory
Despite the gathering round the fire.
Aren’t you every bird on every wire?

When the time comes,
And rights have been read,
I think of you often
But for once I meant what I said.
Here I stay, I lay me down,
I’m dug from the rubble, and cut from the kill.
Here I stay, I lay me down,
In a house by the Hill.
I’m dug from the rubble, and cut from the kill.
I’m dug from the rubble, and cut from the kill.
I’m dug from the rubble, and cut from the kill.

I always thought that October is the saddest month of the year. And then V came along and my sense and sensations nose-dove. To ride the crest or weather the trough?

I always thought that October is the saddest month of the year. Why? Because it reminds me of that one major loss in my life that causes the finest soup to taste muddy and the sweetest memory to turn banal. Nothing can lift me up afterwards. See here Jeanette Winterson’s quote: “This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it.” Most use this as their anthem about romantic love. V will probably use it for that specific someone who maimed her heart. I remember you every time I regard this quote. When one bears the greatest loss, every thing is skewed, and when one laughs, there is a ragged aftertaste, something that can’t be filled, something that chokes days.

I always thought that October is the saddest month of the year. Last year, it was 20,00 Seconds by K’s Choice that I offered to you. There was a time I offered Carry by Tori Amos to you. Do you remember The Smiths’ Sleep? And other fistful of songs that I wish would reach you. They say that when human beings die, their sense of hearing is the last to go — thus the songs and my occasional hellos and senseless narrations, thus the ramblings on a regular Tuesday afternoon.

I always thought that October is the saddest month of the year. And when my birthday month rolls in, when Christmas rolls in, when birthdays of my favorite writers and singers roll in, I would think that certain months are as saddening as October. And then I look at the calendar and realize, what the hell, every month is like October!

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fragments

– I always wanted to stay beside someone whose laugh reminds me of harp tunes (how I can breathe easy with that laughter) and who can still beat me at thumb wrestling. I am a cheat when it comes to thumb wrestling.

– The fragments that linger before I forget a place/event/snippet/experience are related with voices: volume, timbre, sonic quality, allusions, musicality or lack of it. It’s like a snowflake, the human voice. You can ask two persons to say one phrase, and everything will be different, or the nuances of it. Nuance, how it sounds like dance or trance or chance. All breathing and breathy, no hinges or latches, the occasional doorstopper.

– I met someone way younger than I am, and she entertains me. Look at how everyday objects entertain cats — a crumpled piece of paper, an empty box, a fly. That’s how I see her — a regular object that fascinates. I am not interested in her THAT way. It’s just funny the way she makes my head tilt in curious fancy. I lie in wait for the killer strike, my left hand rounding itself like a paw.

– I just tweeted that the world is unkind to insomniacs sometimes. Silence presses down on me, people’s snoring scares me, the cat is busy prowling corners and nooks for invisible preys. I only dream bad dreams, nightmares. The latest one involved a lot of running and escaping. It felt so real. It started with me in bed; I woke up in bed, too. There was almost no dividing line that I needed to reorient myself with the room and its familiar edges and landscapes. I needed to relearn the maps and routes I’ve charted. It is tiring.

– Meredith Grey of the television series Grey’s Anatomy puts value in having her own person. Her person is the one she leans on for support and who serves as the bedrock of her world. At a point in the series, she accuses her best friend Cristina that she never treated Grey as her person, that Cristina’s person is herself. That scene felt very familiar. I knew then who my person is. Dear reader, if you have a weighty semblance of who I am, I know you have a clear idea who my person is. Who is yours?