the Joshua tree

"It doesn't seem right," I told Mom. "We rescued them. Now we're going to kill them."
"We gave them a little extra time on the planet," Mom said. "They should be grateful for that."

It stood in a crease of land where the desert ended and the mountain began, forming a wind tunnel. From the time the Joshua tree was a tiny sapling, it had been so beaten down by the whipping wind that, rather than trying to grow skyward, it had grown in the direction that the wind pushed it. It existed now in a permanent state of windblowlessness, leaning over so far that it seemed ready to topple, although, in fact, its roots held it firmly in place.

I thought the Joshua tree was ugly. It looked scraggly and freakish, permanently stuck in its twisted, tortured position, and it made me think of how some adults tell you not to make weird faces because your features could freeze. Mom, however, thought it was the most beautiful tree she had ever seen. She told us she had to paint it.

While we were in Midland, Mom painted dozens of variations and studies of the Joshua tree. We'd go with her and she'd give us art lessons.

One time I saw a tiny Joshua sapling growing not too far from the old tree. I wanted to dig it up and replant it near our house. I told Mom that I would protect it from the wind and water it every day so that it could grow nice and tall and straight.

Mom frowned at me. "You'd be destroying what makes it special," she said. "It's the Joshua tree's struggle that gives it its beauty."

I wondered if the fire had been out to get me. I wondered if all fire was related, like Dad said all humans were related, if the fire that had burned me that day while I cooked hot dogs was somehow connected to the fire I had flushed down the toilet and the fire burning at the hotel.

I can't get over our moon.

she is so damn beautiful

yellow pinned Met

so I'm happy to see that you're moving here
I'm happy to see you sometimes
and I'm happy to be there occasionally
when you need to clear up your mind.

well I hope I can help you make movements
toward the life that you'd rather yours be
but I hope that I'll stay through this always
not straying from moving to me,

Billy Joel - Piano Man

You haven't heard this song 'till you've seen this video...
~C

laylah tov Kulam

everything is Raw

“Everything is raw material. Everything is relevant. Everything is usable. Everything feeds into my creativity. But without proper preparation, I cannot see it, retain it, and use it.” --Twyla Tharp

More than anything, I hate that I care about the things they say... I hate that I hate that I hate that. and I hate that I hate. and I hate that I hate that I hate that.

the Sociological Imagination

The first fruit of this imagination- and the first lesson of the social science that embodies it- is the idea that the individual can understand his own experience and gauge his own fate only by locating himself within his period, that he can know his own chances in life only by becoming aware of those of all individuals in his circumstances.
C. Wright Mills

This Nacirema bit is great. I actually searched for more info because I read the original article by Horace Miner in blindness on the train yesterday, and was sure something more was up... indeed there was.

Ahhh, and it's not just me who looks back to the train car... :')

Squinting at the Sun on Smiley Days

JSYK, the title of this post went from Squinting at the Sun on Cloudy Days, to Smiling at the Sun on Cloudy Days, to the rightful one it is now. JSYK.

Relaxing my shoulders when I'm walking in the cold,
placing my entire foot down on the cold and wet floor
jumping out of bed at 6 in the morning
being happy at the start of each new day
doing four hundred crunches
teaching
being melodramatic
being mellow
being unreasonably optimistic
acting weird
meditating
smiling with my eyes
saying hello to random people
taking long walks in unfamiliar places
and in familiar places
being truly happy to see someone
seeing every day as bright
seeing every day as drama
seeing every night's moon.
Seeing my life as a continuous, never ending drama, that could at any moment just be
done.

my weltanschanung

is changing,
right along with me

and Mark Anthony's I Need To Know is stuck in my head.

I'd rather be

I surely could.. if I only would

If I could, I would make the settings to this blog have the months of July and August of '07 show up on the top page now, because they are happy months of good emotions and wholesomeness and make me content and dreamy and glad,
light vibe, cheery,
curious,
confused; utterly confused

happy
:')

Clear Night

He didn't believe in much anything. He was a cynic, a bitter guy...
I knew this because I looked. You know these things when you look into someone's eyes. His were a deep blue. And I sang; we sang, through the night, in perfectly crisp winter weather, across one another, on opposite sides of the fire.
And we sang. And made up lyrics.
And sang.
"You missed the last verse," I told him.
"It's obsolete," he said.
I knew. You know these things, when you sing into blue eyes.