glurg.

I feel kind of ill today. So instead of blogging, I'm just going to give you another Sunday poem. Too bad if you don't like poems. You can just not read it. It'll be Rilke again, I think, just because I finished The Book of Hours yesterday, and I'm starting back through, trying to really digest it. Rilke is a little cerebral for me to love, but I think the last two lines of this particular poem thorougly redeem it.

I find you there in all these things
I care for like a brother.
A seed, you nestle in the smallest of them,
and in the huge ones spread yourself hugely.

Such is the amazing play of the powers:
they give themselves so willingly,
swelling in the roots, thinning as the trunks rise,
and in the high branches, resurrection.

cessation, susurration

Alternate title: "Come and Share my Plenty." Or "The Zen Vacuum." Or "Is This the Strange Feeling of You?" Or "I'll Take the Blows." Or "So Drop These Scales and Take a Look." Or "And I'm Curious if They Imagine Me."

(Do you feel like you're in an eighteenth century novel yet, with all of those subtitles? Also, it is becoming clear that I am newly obsessed with Caedmon's Call. Over half of those titles come from their 40 Acres CD. I hope that's not absurdly dorky of me. But really I guess I don't care that much, because clearly I am not censoring myself in this instance.)

Today I had lots of words, which always feels like a godsend. And I'm not using that as a cliche figure of speech. It really does just feel like God reached down and handed me a present. Unfortunately, they are not the words I'm waiting for. But then, who's to say they aren't better than the words I think I need?

Also, I have figured out the reason my blog is so angsty when I am not at school. The inner life keeps going, but it is untempered by the actions or events of the outer life, so you get a few more unadulterated thoughts. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but I'm gonna go with, "Whatever."

Lots of love from Hartselle, Alabama,
t34 k3nz13

P.S. I wonder if it's creepy for me to sign my blog posts with love when theoretically there could be strangers reading it? I'm gonna say that, theoretically at least, I should love everyone. So it's probably alright.

"i might have the mind to make a daring daylight escape"

What would happen if you were in a car going the speed of light and you turned your lights on?

These are the kind of questions that the internet poses. That one, in my opinion, is a darned good question. What would happen? Would it just stay dark? Wouldn't it be funny if we discovered that you gained enough mass at light speed to be impaled by light molecules?

Fifteen days until Italy. When I am in Italy, it will be great, because I can tell a ton of people to "get thee to a nunnery," and they will! It will be Shakespeare, and it will be good.

"the part of me that breathes when you breathe is losing time."

Ciao my loves!

Io desiderano vedere voi.

I think that translates into: "I desire to see you (plural)." But I'm not positive. My grammar still leaves something to be desired. Speaking of which, I should not be listening to Jars of Clay or laughing at the Flaming Lips, I should be listening to the Italian CDs I got from the library. In other Italy news, I am practically ready to go. I have some euros, my passport, my visa, and my airplane ticket. And all the clothes I need,

My writing is still stalled. But I am just trying to be patient. If I'm not writing well at this story, maybe there is something else I'm supposed to be writing. Or maybe I am missing something and if I take the time to listen carefully to what is happening I will find the answers.

Maybe, and this is the thought that haunts me, the problem is that my plot is more full of holes than swiss cheese on a shooting range. I like my characters an awful lot, but as I'm writing, I wonder, "why the heck are they doing this?" And some of the pieces of character or place have developed more importance than the actual plot points, so it's all lopsided. The story I'm writing, in other words, is not the story that wants to be written. Does that make sense? It sounds absurdly zen, but the gist of it is that I need to start re-thinking from the ground up.

But anyway, thank you for the mental hugs.

Sixteen days until Italy

"not a knife throw from here you can hear the night train passing "

I dunno about you, but I like getting phone calls. It's pretty much great. It's weird to think that in Italy I will be cut off from this most basic tenet of American life. But sending letters could be way more fun than e-mail, so who knows? We'll see. I refuse to fret.

The dragon lady rewrite is not going well. Not at all. I read over what I wrote the day before (or the week before, or the month before) and realize that it's crap. And not only is it crap, I am not sure what it needs in order to be amazing. And then I get stir-crazy and unable to sit still and focus on the story for more than five minutes. So it's a mess. I was all set to send some of it off, and then I thought, what's the point? They'll only have to tell me that it's terrible. So it's still sitting in my computer. Anybody got a spare flash of genius lying around? Anyone? Or at least a spare mental hug?

"dear darkening ground,"

- Rilke

A blond, a brunette, and a redhead were running from the police. The police, being excellent at hot pursuit, were catching up to them. So the blond, the brunette, and the redhead needed a place to hide. They come upon three gunny sacks, and climb inside. The police come along to the sacks, and decide to find out what's in them. So they kick the first sack, and the brunette says, "Woof!" "Some dog," the police say, and kick the next sack. The redhead says, "Miao," and the police say "Some cat." So the police kick the third sack, and the blond says, "Potatoes potatoes potatoes!"

[joke courtesty of Prairie Home Companion joke episode on Saturday night and Dad for repeating it tonight so I could write it down for you]

Yesterday was a fun day. I went to church, and then had lunch with the sunday school, which was fun. And then I came back and took a nap (also fun, and warm for once - I'm freezing all the time these days), and then watched some Poirot with Mom, and then got a call from the sunday school again. So I went to hang out with them and watch Casablanca and funny youtube movies (Chad Vader is pretty amazing. . . . and I finally saw the numa numa video too). Casablanca was a good movie. Also, I found it fun that the guys were secure enough to express their enjoyment of the movie (and actually? it was like the third time some of them had seen it. In a row).

Dad: "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate."

rilke's book of hours

today, a Sunday poem, from Rilke's Book of Hours:

Because once someone dared
to want you,
I know that we, too, may want you.

When gold is in the mountain
and we've ravaged the depths
till we've given up digging,

it will be brought forth into day
by the river that mines
the silences of stone.

Even when we don't desire it,
God is ripening.