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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| I wasn't being a sustainable self. I thought I was communicating but I wasn't. I thought I was saying everything that needed to be said as I said close to nothing. I believed in poetry and mystery but I don't anymore. Minimalism is still beautiful but it doesn't do the work I need it to do. It is meek and sleepy, slipping in and out of consciousness. It's not enough. I thought life was the project of making your own story and sometimes participating in other peoples' stories but that's not it. It is everyone writing a story together. I don't want to be the character hiding under the covers. I don't think I can write here anymore, can I sever ties with my old self? Good-bye, derisive, morose Andrea. It's time to grow up. I have to stop babying myself.
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| The last spoon, the last big toe, the last second-hand towel, the last long look. Eyes drinking eyes. The tug-of-war of energy. Raven spreads his wings
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| Lying in the back of his friend's truck, sky clouds and smoke clouds conflate. Ponderously, he awaits the happy fall. Through the branches, a mother laying eggs, a balloon caught celebrating your 50th birthday 5 days later, past a rescue helicopter and finally, into the outer reaches of the universe.
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| Me and Yui worked together translating this stupid Hong Kong gangster movie script the whole stupid day today. She told me how to read the hard kanji and I taught her good words like brooding and autopsy. A hundred and something pages. The good thing about doing translations is that I am forced to read and compute things holistically. Each translation has to make sense in the context of the text's larger goal (I have to convince myself that there is one in the first place and then make good decisions about what precisely that ought to be). There is no difference between translating 3 pages and 150 pages, it is all the same. I am going to start free lancing so I can make money doing this tedious shit. Being witness to the complete execution of a creative work is a good thing.
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| EVERYTHING IS WEIRD
Rainbow euphoria. I have been taking a bath every day for the last few days. Real life is jarring and complex. In real life, people knock on your doors. I write every thing down and try to make sense of things. If only I could diagram these narrative strands into logical models and make decisions based on the choices afforded me by multiple choice answers. Even then wouldn't I continue to falter? I feel like I have stepped into a new dimension. I speak of change, of new days and new ways, the negotiation of old spaces, reform. But what happens when you step out of the system altogether? What then?
bunny and clyde, bunny-ta applebum
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