dS.
23 July 2008 @ 06:05
{ yesterday's tweets. }  
  • 09:00 Awake, anxious, trying to find breakfast. Life! Lolarious! #
  • 10:38 Beau's wife is a crazy. #
  • 10:42 Both of my parents just pulled into the driveway. Who knows who's actually watching the store. #
  • 11:27 Have said it before, am saying it again: WEEDS ♥ #
  • 14:54 !!! Crosetti, what? #
  • 19:00 @twincy Ohnoes. I thought you were in the UK until Thursday. #
  • 21:05 "You just wasted five minutes of my life. Five minutes that I'll be begging for as I lay dying." OH, MUNCH. #
  • 22:12 Just realised am going to have to go to town tomorrow. Eeek. Why do I always forget this stuff. #

( LoudTwitter )

 
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dS.
22 July 2008 @ 22:25
{ Leah Goldberg: Forgiveness. }  
Forgiveness
by Leah Goldberg

You came to me, to open my eyes.
To me your body was a view,
A window and a mirror.
You came as night comes to the owl
To show him, in the darkness, all things.

And I learned: There's a name
For each eyelash and fingernail,
And for every hair on the exposed flesh.
And the scent of childhood,
The scent of paste and pine,
Is the night aroma of the body.

If there were torments -
They've sailed towards you.
My white sail into your darkness.
Allow me to go, oh allow me to go
And kneel on the shore of forgiveness.

--

For [info]noorie, for whom this is a favourite. (And thus endeth tonight's poetry spam.)

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mood: okay
music: none.
 
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dS.
22 July 2008 @ 21:19
{ Leah Goldberg: The Shortest Journey. }  
The Shortest Journey
by Leah Goldberg (trans. Annie Kantar)

1. Tel Aviv, 1935

The flagpoles on the roofs of homes
were like the masts of Columbus's ship
and each crow that perched on them
conjured another continent.

Travellers' knapsacks walked through the streets
and the language of a foreign land
was thrust like the cold blade of a knife
into the hot desert wind.

How did the air of that small city
find a way to bear
memories of childhood, lovers shed,
rooms emptied somewhere?

Like pictures blackening inside a camera,
clear winter nights were reversed,
with rainy summers across the sea,
and foggy mornings of capital cities.

As the sound of marching behind your back
drums a foreign army's songs,
it seems, as you turn your head to the sea,
your city's church is floating.

( continued. )

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mood: anxious
music: H:LotS: 3x06.
 
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dS.
22 July 2008 @ 21:17
{ Nichita Stanescu: Sentimental Story. }  
Sentimental story
Nichita Stanescu

Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.

 

Tags:
 
 
mood: okay
music: H:LotS: 3x06.
 
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dS.
22 July 2008 @ 10:56
{ Siân Hughes: The Send-Off. }  
The Send-Off
by Siân Hughes

Mummy has to go now. Sorry we were late.
I brought you a flower. No, it’s dead.

When you cut them, you see, they die.
The petals were white when I left.

I was sewing your name tags.
This is your name. I know it’s no use to you now.

Home clothes are not allowed. It’s the rules.
Your shawl is taped to your parcel.

Don’t be afraid. You are not alone,
and no one has a bed with a window.

The man with the spade brings you in
from the rain. The one in black says words.

In a few weeks they’ll come back
and let in more new friends.

The view changes each time. The sky,
believe me, is not always this cold.

When I was a little girl like you
I liked to look through the banisters

and see who was calling so late.
My parents in their fancy clothes

might turn and say “Who’s out of bed?”
The visitors blew kisses. Sometimes

they saved me something special
that the grown-ups had to eat.

My darling, sleep well in your bed.
Don’t come out on the landing where it’s cold

because, you see, I won’t come home
in my long dress and necklace

and blow you kisses up the stairs.
I won’t carry you back to bed

to rub your blue feet better
or fetch blankets from the box.

No, you don’t need a bottle, cuddle,
special rabbit, teddy, bit of cloth.

You don’t even need to close your eyes.
They were born that way, sealed shut.

You are a hard lesson to learn,
soft though you are, and transparent.

There’s a mark on your forehead –
the simple flaw that separates
the living from the dead.

It looks like I dropped you downstairs.
I didn’t. I promise. It was like this:

somebody did some counting
and when they added you up

they found one part of you didn’t match.
It’s supposed to come out even.

They call it trisomy twenty-one.
It’s not such a lucky number.

No, I know it doesn’t begin to explain
your lack of Christmas presents

or the colour of your skin. I know
the best smiles in the world come out uneven.

--

Siân Hughes won the 2006 Arvon International Poetry Competition with this poem.

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mood: okay
music: none.
 
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dS.
22 July 2008 @ 06:04
{ yesterday's tweets. }  
  • 09:06 LoudTwitter is delivering again. So what was with the snafu? (Self = back to spreadsheets) #
  • 10:22 Spreadsheet = finished! #
  • 16:03 Mary's boyfriend in In Plain Sight actually says "aie, aie, aie". !!! #
  • 19:43 "Mulder, toads just fell from the sky!" "I guess their parachutes didn't open." ♥ #
  • 21:04 FOR YOUR INFORMATION THE SQUEAKING THINGS ARE BACK WTF WTF WTF #
 
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dS.
21 July 2008 @ 18:31
{ Adonis: Chair (A Dream). }  
Chair (A Dream)
by Adonis (Trans. Michael Beard & Adnan Haydar)

Long ago I screamed at the city:
Husk of the world,
I’m holding you in my hand.
Long ago I muttered at the ship,
my song in a rose-red blaze:
all or nothing.

As for you, my grandchildren, I’m tired,
tired of myself, tired of the seas.
Bring me that chair.

--

This post was brought to you by The Girl Who is Kind of Ridiculously Into Homicide: Life on the Streets Right Now.

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mood: thirsty
music: none.
 
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dS.
21 July 2008 @ 18:25
{ Adonis: Homeland. }  

Homeland
by Adonis (trans. Michael Beard & Adnan Haydar)

To faces shrunk under a mask of sadness
I bow down. To the paths where I forgot my tears,
for a father who died green, like a cloud,
a sail still unfurled in his face,
I bow down. To a child who has been sold
so he might pray and shine shoes.
(All of us in my country, we pray. All of us shine shoes.)

And to rocks where my hunger engraved a message:
This rock is really rain rolling under my eyelids, it’s lightning.
And I bow down to a house whose soil I carried with me
when I was lost. These all are my homeland. Not Damascus.

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mood: awake
music: Rose Polenzani: Soul Meets Body
 
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dS.
21 July 2008 @ 09:13
{ Yehuda Amichai: Summer Evening by the Window with Psalms. }  
Summer Evening by the Window with Psalms
by Yehuda Amichai (trans. Robert Alter)

Close scrutiny of the past.
How my soul yearns within me like those souls
in the nineteenth century before the great wars,
like curtains that want to pull free
of the open window and fly.

We console ourselves with short breaths,
as, after running, we always recover.
We want to reach death hale and hearty,
like a murderer sentenced to death,
wounded when he was caught,
whose judges want him to heal before
he’s brought to the gallows.

I think, how many still waters
can yield a single night of stillness
and how many green pastures, wide as deserts,
can yield the quiet of a single hour
and how many valleys of the shadow of death do we need
to be a compassionate shade in the unrelenting sun.

I look out the window: a hundred and fifty
psalms pass through the twilight,
a hundred and fifty psalms, great and small.
What a grand and glorious and transient fleet!

I say: the window is God
And the door is his prophet.

--

Thank you, New Yorker, for this in amongst your recent chaos.

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mood: tired
music: none.
 
speak.
 
dS.
21 July 2008 @ 06:13
{ yesterday's tweets. }  

( cut. )

( LoudTwitter )

 
speak.
 
dS.
19 July 2008 @ 23:51
{ no more boundaries. }  

I still love this episode (3x01, Spree). I don't know what it is about it. I mean. I have a lot of issues with Numb3rs as a show, and a lot of them turn up in Two Daughters (the shame of it being that ultimately, I love that episode, too). But there's that exposition scene that I just adore - the kind of scene that Numb3rs doesn't produce any more. It's so smooth. The camera barely moves for the first third of the scene, adjusting as each team member comes into shot. The shot is continuous; there's such unity there. Even when the shot is broken, each new shot is brought in by a hand or a gesture. Then the group separates with Megan at the front of the war room, and the men grouped closer to the camera. Sure, Megan's monologue there is the focus, it's the point. But she's also separated by her understanding of Crystal Hoyle. Then she comes back to the group, takes a seat, and the group reforms. It's a beautiful scene to me. And Megan's dialogue— look, forget that it's Megan who is speaking; forget that her Issues play into this. Because the dialogue is so well-pitched, and the scene is so well-paced, that it doesn't really matter that Megan has Issues that are about to be exploited. This scene isn't at all about that. It's about the case coming together. It's so coherent. (And it's a tease, too, because the subtlety of some of the interactions - the way Ian's eyes follow Megan around the room; the way the men interact - are telling you more than the dialogue alone.) I fucking love this scene.

--

Hiatus II kills me. Just. I mean, yes, the scene with Ziva and Jethro, forever will I be torturing myself with that one ( spoiler! ) but also Jethro, and all his anger. "Is everyone up there as stupid as you?"

I confess: I WEEPED. I can't help it. When all he wants is his wife and child? Oh boy.

--

I'm too tired to talk about the things that annoyed me today. I'm sure I'll have time tomorrow when the house is flooded with The Sister's friends (oiskie).

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mood: tired
music: none.
 
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dS.
19 July 2008 @ 21:04
{ my family are out at a restaurant and I'm filling in a spreadsheet. }  

Things I will probably talk about tonight:

a) my family
b) Numb3rs, 3x01, Spree (yeah, I know, again)
c) NCIS, 3x24, Hiatus II (...again)

I can't help it. Now: to watch the latter.

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mood: okay
music: none.
 
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dS.
18 July 2008 @ 09:57
{ no-one has the guts to shut us out. }  

Received some post this morning. Firstly, [info]wliberation, I'm told everything is sorted so no need to worry anymore! Secondly, two years ago I entered Polaroids in a poetry competition and today they sent me an application for this year's contest. Which is a shame, considering I haven't really written anything I like as much as I like Polaroids. We'll see.

--

Last night I watched Mock the Week with my parents which was easily the best plan I've had all week because comedy loosens the shoulders, and communal comedy does it collectively. Afterwards I tried to watch the third disc of H:LotS on my laptop but it could read the disc because of the print on it. Tried to watch it on the TV: that player couldn't read it either. So I left that, and we watched Touching Evil, season 2 (the finale). As per expected, it was an angstbasket, huzz. (Nicola Walker. NICOLA WALKER. I always enjoyed her portrayal of Ruth, and I don't think anyone could have done half as a good a job, but seeing her in TE blows my mind. Just the variation in the characters, and how believable she is at both. I can't even reconcile Susan with Ruth. Just amazing.)

As it turns out, the home PC can read the aforementioned disc, so I'll be watching downstairs this afternoon.

--

Am kind of already fed up with the idea of graduation? Don't ask.

--

Today is Friday. Tomorrow night the rents are going to someone's birthday party (one of Dad's friends from the Rotary) and on Sunday night The Sister is having some sort of birthday shebang (lots of drama surrounding that one, for no good reason). I am going to throw myself into a ditch and avoid the whole blah damn thing.

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mood: okay
music: Rilo Kiley: Breaking Up.
 
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dS.
17 July 2008 @ 12:32
{ Franz Wright: First Light. }  

First Light
by Franz Wright

It’s raining
in a dead language.

The empty house filled with the sound

of your name
abruptly whispered,

once,

before you finally slept.

 

Tags:
 
 
mood: busy
music: The Cardigans: Erase / Rewind (Scrobbled by Last.fm)
 
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dS.
17 July 2008 @ 06:06
{ yesterday's tweets. }  
  • 09:05 @leda_speaks ! Didn't think anyone else had *heard* of JaaP! #
  • 09:06 @trascendenza (a) it's part of his charm & (b) NO, because he is MIIIIIIIINE (although, I guess I'm willing to share *g*) #
  • 09:06 Good morning world! Good morning refuse collectors! Good morning especially-loud tractor! #
  • 09:07 Dear Claire Forlani: Why you always gotta be kidnapped & shit? Can't you find a decent role already? ( cut. )
 
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dS.
16 July 2008 @ 15:48
{ until it got so warm that none of us could sleep. }  

The day has improved, though in a (to me) lolarious way.

--

So, I twiddled my CV and found another couple of places to send it to. Walked into D to deposit my cheque into my account (only to find that the statement I received this morning was c.£40 out - putting me further into my overdraft. I was pissed at the time but now I am considerably more zen). Sorted out things for The Sister. Came home, decided I was going to use today to bake. Hemmed and hawed, comment-spammed with [info]wliberation who is a Food Guru. Decided to make some cupcakes (note: they're actually muffins). Walked back into D to buy ingredients and cases. Came home. Fiasco began.

Basically, I've been in the kitchen for the past hour or so, sorting out ingredients, then putting them together. My first egg was grossly rotten, so I had to make do with 3 eggs and a splash of milk (which... was probably a mistake. We'll see). As I was putting the batter together, I was Very Suspicious about my mixture. But, I was zenning, so it was all go with it, M, go with it. Scooped mixture into cases, put said cases into the over.

The muffins are now cooling. In all likelihood they are way too spicy (I forget that The Mother's ground chilis are way spicier than the ones I was using in Soton) so I'm going to have to warn The Sister to eat them with vanilla ice cream, which isn't the worst that could happen. I'll find out how they taste in a moment. AM NERVOUS.

--

The reason I find this hilarious is because (a) I hate it when I start cooking and something goes wrong (see: eggs) and (b) I have meddled with the ingredients a bit and that's generally A Bad Plan. I am kind of tense! I am kind of excited! I have tied a balloon to a bottle of bubbles for The Sister! Possibly I should take pictures. (Nope.)

--

Tonight: cinemas with [info]yaiyeishka & [info]xanitia. YAYARMS.

--

edit: Did I mention, also, that the kitchen scales are BROKEN? Yeah, that made things 100x easier. Sigh. But! The taste test! Not really too spicy at all, in fact, just the after taste. Needs to be sweeter, though. Or more chocolatey. Hmmm. But, yay, mostly a success!

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mood: !!! LOLS
music: Alana Davis: I Want You (Scrobbled by Last.fm)
 
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dS.
16 July 2008 @ 06:14
{ yesterday's tweets. }  
    ( cut. )
  • 18:54 Wow, Mike Doughty, your face does not match your voice. (This live performance is still awesome, though: tinyurl.com/5wjeyb) #
  • 18:59 (It's the string-work that makes it beautiful.) (Um. I mean the non-guitar string-work.) #
  • 20:27 @twincy lols, I take full responsibility. Esp. after the WAS fanatics #
  • 20:27 @twincy "Ziva's radioactive boyfriend" lols! (Orange hat! Ohnoes!) #
  • 20:34 @twincy This is why mothers can't always be fangirls. ("Nipple-gripple", btw? Terrifying phrase!) #
  • 20:40 @twincy (The Editors = continual lol) #
  • 23:07 Just watched HLotS w/rents - great so far. It's got a smooth pace. Now: bedtime. #
 
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dS.
15 July 2008 @ 06:10
{ yesterday's tweets. }  
  • 09:36 Was up before 9am - am feeling Pretty Okay #
  • 09:43 !!! How is there only 12Gb space on the HD? Ugh. Time to save some music to disk, obvs. #
  • 11:01 !!! THAT'S ANUPAM KHER. (...still watching 'Lust, Caution' although it's not obviously w/ this wild array of cast members.) #
  • 13:44 Argh, codecs! #
  • 16:09 Am sorting/alphabetising/deleting files. Is taking forever. #
  • 16:48 Spoke to Esme \o/ Was told by Dad that I have to work early tomorrow morning :((( #
  • 18:05 @mindlint it worked (hi!) #
  • 19:21 Collecting takeout w/mum. Also: not talking to her. #
  • 19:47 @twincy \o/ Good, because I was failing, lols #
  • 19:53 @twincy No, that's 'kay - I saw it #
  • 21:10 Spoke to The Flatmate; have eaten; am still in a fuming bad mood. Huzzah! #
  • 22:59 @mindlint And that, lads and ladettes, is why porn is BAD for you #
  • 23:01 Dear TV.com, why is it that when I search 'Life', you give me Pauley Perrette? #
  • 23:09 @mindlint That only happens with the *really* good shit #
  • 23:15 and now: radio silence. #
 
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dS.
14 July 2008 @ 06:05
{ yesterday's tweets. }  
  • 10:31 @twincy My room stooped being mine when I took down the postcards & the penguins. #
  • 11:06 Wow. Am feeling looow this morning. Dear Self, what's with that? #
  • 13:05 Have been grocery shopping & back \o/ Nice to take a walk #
  • 14:38 /o\ Working @ 4pm. #
  • 14:58 Flashpoint is like someone saw Standoff and decided: less sex, more guns. #
  • 15:28 Huh. This just got 100x more emotionally sophisticated. #
  • 15:43 *is annoyed* #
  • 17:37 Home at last. Avec blisters (ow) #
  • 21:44 @twincy I love when Chris does the monologue, lols #
  • 21:50 @twincy obvs. you are going senile #
  • 22:01 @twincy lols, there's that too. #
  • 22:16 Am finally watching 'Lust, Caution'. Should have done this when it came out: I love it so far #
  • 23:25 Ugh. This film is so good, but I need to go to bed, aie. #
 
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dS.
13 July 2008 @ 06:10
{ yesterday's tweets. }  
( cut. )
 
1 spoke. | speak.