| Boston Day 1 |
[Aug. 23rd, 2011|03:30 am] |
After an arduous journey, I arrive safely. Have begun to communicate with the natives - I can understand their language, but making myself understood requires some hand-waving. As does getting their attention.
Realize midflight that I have my apartment number, but not the actual address. Thankfully, my accomodation is named after the two streets it borders. All is well. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 5th, 2011|02:51 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | garden | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | savage | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | violet | ] |
A dream.
It's the first bus of the day - the last bus - crowded with sweaty strangers - empty in the noonday heat - people scattered across the seats. The bus has just left the terminal - is caught in traffic - is beginning to accelerate when I know I must stop here.
I lurch for the button that screeches the bus to a halt, the driver and several passengers glaring at me as I alight, alone. The empty bus vanishes into the distance, leaving the unpleasant odour of exhaust drifting in the cool evening air. The bus stop is nobly severe, peeling paint on iron poles, bowed but unbroken in the bleaching midday sun. Somehow I know that no other bus will pass today.
I sit. Around me is jungle - concrete - small shophouses that have closed for the night. People walk by, shrouded in music and strangeness. Few walk by themselves, but all are alone. I wait, and soon enough they are gone. When the rain blankets the trees around, the small rectangular patch of cement is invaded by trickling streams of rainwater, cut off from their drainage.
The chirping of insects - the rain chipping away at the worn pavement - I can't tell you what it is, but now there is danger where a second ago there was none. I'm crouching on the balls of my feet, head flashing left, right, like a startled deer. I must run- but where?- must run- now-
And the rain ceases. I am screaming - but silence is in my throat, is constricting and choking me. Even if I knew where the threat was, I would not now be able to move. I am frozen, and time stops around me in the eternity between heartbeats.
The bus is approaching. Someone waves, and it slows down with a hydraulic sigh and grinds to a halt in front of me. The door opens, and I know - all is lost. Surely someone else - but there is nobody here but me, and I board the bus and smile at the driver, the screaming in my head deafening now and threatening to drown my vision in static. |
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| On drifting through a crowd |
[Sep. 16th, 2010|02:33 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | sham pain supine over | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | jupiter - train | ] |
Cities are poetic places. But not poetic
like Tuscan countryside. Poetic like Myspace.
"Let it out," the dapper shrinks in gray offices
advocate. And so we do, like a slowly-
escaping fart. Gently, non-offensively,
half-hoping nobody hears.
Poetry like trains. Run-on lines, like
run-on people, running eerily on time, every day,
except when you really really need one and suddenly
the wait takes eternity.
But we have eternity in the Palms in our hands, us
city folk, endless diversions and improvements
and podcasts and ample applications and
we wait sullenly, distractedly, earphones aiding
the pretense that we are alone, the illusion that there are not
twenty sweaty people jammed into the space behind you
all in a world of their own, strangers and silent.
Sardines as memento claustri? Yes, we, canned. But
there's news to catch - the media unicycle leaning,
tottering, surely - surely it must fall - no, yes,
and (as the script proclaims, if only you knew to
read it) finally, finally everyone can catch their
Breath. The crisis passes, the talking heads declaiming
that the worst is over, but there are only so many words
they know and who knows which ones they want to say
but dare not in case next time, having boldly wasted
their supply of adjectives (or verbs, or idioms, or truth) they
find themselves having to repeat themselves
but it's okay, because the sheep have short and shorn
memories, and who knows what the talking heads said anyway, because
the worst is over and the crisis passed; what do you mean,
how do you know? I saw it in the papers
and Anyway did you see what she wore to the Oscars or the Emmys or the
beach last night? and
I'ma let you finish (my stop's here). |
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| to remind myself why I don't read the ST |
[Jun. 29th, 2010|08:42 am] |
...So I come home, and decide to see what the ST is reporting on the World Cup. And resolve to stick to Soccernet.
"Dodgy refereeing not withstanding": It's 'notwithstanding'. If anything, the refereeing was truly withstanding, in the archaic sense.
"a long time for karma to bear fruit": Surely he doesn't mean that Hurst's karma has been bearing fruit these 44 years. Not to mention the misuse of 'karma' - does he know what it is?
"will only have themselves to blame": Why the future tense?
"was an obvious parallel": No. It is exactly the opposite of a parallel. Notwithstanding the fact that one was given and one was not (see what I did there), Hurst's goal was a difficult decision only proven wrong by an Oxford University Engineering Dept study while Lampard's effort was an easy decision fumbled.
"young guns had cut their team into little red ribbons": What? Maybe he means 'cut to ribbons'. Maybe he doesn't mean anything at all.
"merciful end to their torment": Surely the thrust of the article is that Germany was merciless in ending England's torment?
"The post-mortem will be long after this humbling defeat": No, it will begin immediately after.
"nailed England to the floor": What could this possibly mean? The only sane thing I might guess he means by this is that England were left stationary, but surely that's a cause of the goals rather than their result?
"[taking] their optimism with them": I think he means the exact opposite. |
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| Let \epsilon > 0 |
[Aug. 12th, 2008|12:46 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | wheel of fun! | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | gorgeous tiny chicken machine show | ] |
I really thought it was time to remind myself I'm not dead yet. So,
I'm alive!
No real updates. I'm back, but you knew that.
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| and it's not even snowing |
[Feb. 13th, 2008|03:38 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | none, or other | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | the lightning seeds - the life of riley | ] |
 |
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| no pictures just words |
[Dec. 3rd, 2007|12:06 am] |
oh, i've put this off for so long.
1) term ended on wednesday. in 4 hours i begin touring, and i'll be back in cambridge on the 11th next year, if all goes to plan.
2) it's been an amazing hectic two months. i guess i need some time to myself to make sense of it all, but, well, wow. it feels like i just left home last week.
i keep meaning to put photos up, and i will by this break.
3) anyone who would like a christmas card please send their address. people who think i would like to send them christmas cards also please send your address. |
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| hello i'm cold! |
[Sep. 28th, 2007|09:36 am] |
hay from the uk!
been stung by a bee, frozen, doing lots of walking but everything's ok! rooms and ppl variously great.
more when i get my laptop on the www and post pics. |
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| now on facebook! |
[Aug. 27th, 2007|02:04 am] |
|
oh my goodness it is so obviously CRACK. |
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| poem of the day |
[Aug. 26th, 2007|01:12 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | still here | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | no forte anymore | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | no piano anymore | ] |
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And will suffice.
-Robert Frost, "Fire and Ice" |
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