I have three new tomato plants in big terracotta pots on the patio. They are lined up in a pefect row. On the left is the heirloom. In the middle the yellow pear. On the right is the cherry. And then, all the way to the right sits a smaller and lower pot filled with basil, lavender, savory, and thyme.
My band still needs a name. My ideas are too literary and dramatic. Chris came up with one: Shiver. I like that. But there are others who think we can do better.
I'm in a bad mood. The tomatoes made me so happy and content, I think the only solution is another plant. A pepper, perhaps?
Or, hanging flowers? Yes, that's it!
30.6.07
20.6.07
twelve days
I haven't written in twelve days. I haven't really opened the computer in twelve days. It's not a deliberate action, I've simply been absorbed with other things.
I'm listening to old music, and remembering times that I didn't value as they happened. Times that were fogged by my idea of how they could be improved. I value them now, at this moment, because I see how fleeting they were. How important they are and always will be because they are a part of what has transpired to create who I am.
I remember when we were recording this album, and how critical I was of myself, and the music. I couldn't listen to it without cringing for a long time. And now, I hear this sound that was, and is, so important. We made the music that we wanted to hear, the songs that told the story of what we were at that time.
I'm soaking in memories.
I remember how focused I was on the room for improvement. Somehow I didn't see how descriptive we were. This is something I am guilty of, not seeing the truth until it doesn't matter anymore and I can only learn from my error.
To my credit, I do try to trust my gut, and we all know that the honest gut is worth trusting.
I'm missing people. People who I've lost, people who I'll always have, people I never had to begin with.
I'm listening to new music. New music made with new people who I don't know as well. And I'm approaching it with apprehension, I expect to not be able to listen to myself. I'm scared of the story I'm telling right now. I think that I won't know the real story until a good two years have passed.
Strange, I like the sound of the song I'm singing. And I like the way we strangers make a story together. If I'm always singing a song to myself, and it's the true song of my life, even the lies are good lies. And it doesn't matter if others hear this song and it resonates or not. It's good to just sing.
And it's good to just be. To be simple and try to be true.
I'm listening to old music, and remembering times that I didn't value as they happened. Times that were fogged by my idea of how they could be improved. I value them now, at this moment, because I see how fleeting they were. How important they are and always will be because they are a part of what has transpired to create who I am.
I remember when we were recording this album, and how critical I was of myself, and the music. I couldn't listen to it without cringing for a long time. And now, I hear this sound that was, and is, so important. We made the music that we wanted to hear, the songs that told the story of what we were at that time.
I'm soaking in memories.
I remember how focused I was on the room for improvement. Somehow I didn't see how descriptive we were. This is something I am guilty of, not seeing the truth until it doesn't matter anymore and I can only learn from my error.
To my credit, I do try to trust my gut, and we all know that the honest gut is worth trusting.
I'm missing people. People who I've lost, people who I'll always have, people I never had to begin with.
I'm listening to new music. New music made with new people who I don't know as well. And I'm approaching it with apprehension, I expect to not be able to listen to myself. I'm scared of the story I'm telling right now. I think that I won't know the real story until a good two years have passed.
Strange, I like the sound of the song I'm singing. And I like the way we strangers make a story together. If I'm always singing a song to myself, and it's the true song of my life, even the lies are good lies. And it doesn't matter if others hear this song and it resonates or not. It's good to just sing.
And it's good to just be. To be simple and try to be true.
7.6.07
Les Trois Soeurs
There is a photograph that is right next to my computer.
I have a few of my photographs framed, and they are lined up on the ledge above my mirror-doored closet-wall. These are images of the people that I love, who without, my life would have far less meaning. I would be such a different person.
But the picture by my computer is of me and my sisters.
I try to describe to people who don't know us as "The Wall Sisters" exactly what it means to be a part of this magical trio. But they never get it. To have a relationship this strong is rare, and between siblings, rarer. It is as though we are three in one, and together equal something that transcends earthly matter.
Don't get me wrong, we are earthy. We were raised in the garden, naked in the wild, left to our own devices in the forests and rivers and ocean mud flats of New England. Poor as dirt, deprived, or blessed, by the absence of television and pop culture, we were forced to create our reality, more often than not a living fantasy. And as part of a semi-nomadic family, we were forced to cling to each other.
Don't get me wrong, we didn't always love each other. I won't go into details here, just know that some serious offences occurred between us, and I will continue to apologize for the trauma I willingly inflicted until the day I breathe my last. But let's get back to this photograph.
We are in white. It is the pre-party for a white party, and we are all a little drunk. Em is wearing a white men's undershirt with a hot pink bra peeking out and long white pants with fuscia stilettos. Soe is wearing a black suede skirt that she painted white with a paint-brush except for the word "white" across the bottom and white thigh-high lace stockings with a rock t-shirt tied in a knot. And a blonde bob wig. And I'm in a white Mexican wedding dress and my hair is black with bangs. And we are obviously enjoying ourselves immensely.
I have looked at this photograph hundreds of times. But just now, I noticed something significant that I'd never seen before. If you look closely, you will see that we are all leaning on each other. That twisted in a circular knot we are balanced on each other. In this pose that we struck spontaneously, we would fall if anyone moved. Emmy's arm is braced around my shoulder and leaning above me, while her leg is resting on top of Soe's shoulder. Soe is equally balanced by her arm which is coiled around Emmy's leg down to her foot, and by my leg, which is balanced on her thigh.
Hannah. Emma. Penelope. Each facet of this beautiful and precious jewel so different, catching separate rays of light and refracting it back into the world, and onto the others. We reflect each other, we support each other, we love each other, and as three in one we are stronger than just one.
Not only are my sisters unbelievably drop-dead gorgeous, they are supremely intelligent, and stylish, and thoughtful, and successful. They are true to themselves, they follow their dreams.
It is hard being away from them, but I know and they know that distance doesn't weaken our bond. What we have is supernatural, and only strengthens with time. That's because we nurture it. We value it, we respect it and feed it.
Mostly with wine and dessert.
I have a few of my photographs framed, and they are lined up on the ledge above my mirror-doored closet-wall. These are images of the people that I love, who without, my life would have far less meaning. I would be such a different person.
But the picture by my computer is of me and my sisters.
I try to describe to people who don't know us as "The Wall Sisters" exactly what it means to be a part of this magical trio. But they never get it. To have a relationship this strong is rare, and between siblings, rarer. It is as though we are three in one, and together equal something that transcends earthly matter.
Don't get me wrong, we are earthy. We were raised in the garden, naked in the wild, left to our own devices in the forests and rivers and ocean mud flats of New England. Poor as dirt, deprived, or blessed, by the absence of television and pop culture, we were forced to create our reality, more often than not a living fantasy. And as part of a semi-nomadic family, we were forced to cling to each other.
Don't get me wrong, we didn't always love each other. I won't go into details here, just know that some serious offences occurred between us, and I will continue to apologize for the trauma I willingly inflicted until the day I breathe my last. But let's get back to this photograph.
We are in white. It is the pre-party for a white party, and we are all a little drunk. Em is wearing a white men's undershirt with a hot pink bra peeking out and long white pants with fuscia stilettos. Soe is wearing a black suede skirt that she painted white with a paint-brush except for the word "white" across the bottom and white thigh-high lace stockings with a rock t-shirt tied in a knot. And a blonde bob wig. And I'm in a white Mexican wedding dress and my hair is black with bangs. And we are obviously enjoying ourselves immensely.
I have looked at this photograph hundreds of times. But just now, I noticed something significant that I'd never seen before. If you look closely, you will see that we are all leaning on each other. That twisted in a circular knot we are balanced on each other. In this pose that we struck spontaneously, we would fall if anyone moved. Emmy's arm is braced around my shoulder and leaning above me, while her leg is resting on top of Soe's shoulder. Soe is equally balanced by her arm which is coiled around Emmy's leg down to her foot, and by my leg, which is balanced on her thigh.
Hannah. Emma. Penelope. Each facet of this beautiful and precious jewel so different, catching separate rays of light and refracting it back into the world, and onto the others. We reflect each other, we support each other, we love each other, and as three in one we are stronger than just one.
Not only are my sisters unbelievably drop-dead gorgeous, they are supremely intelligent, and stylish, and thoughtful, and successful. They are true to themselves, they follow their dreams.
It is hard being away from them, but I know and they know that distance doesn't weaken our bond. What we have is supernatural, and only strengthens with time. That's because we nurture it. We value it, we respect it and feed it.
Mostly with wine and dessert.
5.6.07
Allow Me To Answer Penelope's Compelling Question
"So you finished the book, what do you think?"
The book in question is The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. Right before I left Burlington, my sister gave me her copy of this book, which she had recently chosen and read with her book club. Luckily for me, she left her bookmark/note card in the book, revealing to me all of the secret and spontaneous thoughts that her reading adventure inspired. HA! Bet you didn't know THAT, Soupy! But, true to my own philosophy of not allowing the opinions of others to color my experience, I didn't read her notes until I'd finished the book.
On a very basic level, this book deals with the pros and cons of vanity; a timeless topic, one that it seems has and will forever plague our kind. There is also a lot of the nature of love, and passion, and lust, and self-gratification, and reaching for perfection, and how we define perfection. Dorian Gray, the main character in the tale, chooses to live a life spent in the pursuit of sensual pleasure; forsaking the well-being of others, in fact misleading the young and the innocent, for sheer entertainment. He follows a philosophy that was quite popular among the Dandies of the time, they called it aestheticism. Some of the books that influenced the movement were Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mal , and Joris Karl Huysman's A Rebours, the latter of which is referred to throughout the novel as the little yellow book, and I intend to try my darnedest to get my dirty little hands on a copy of it as soon as I possibly can.
Here are some quotes that struck me:
(At the beginning, when Dorian is yet an innocent young buck...)
Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray burying his face in the great cool lilac blossoms, feverishly drinking in their perfume as if it had been wine. He came close to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. "You are quite right to do that," he murmured. "Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
(...and later, when he's had some years of filthy living to stain his soul...)
Then, suddenly, some night he would creep out of the house, go down to dreadful places near Blue Gate Fields, and stay there, day after day, until he was driven away. On his return he would sit in front of the picture, sometimes loathing it and himself, but filled, at other times, with that pride of individualism that is half the fascination of sin, and smiling, with secret pleasure, at the misshapen shadow that had to bear the burden that should have been his own.
Then, there is a lovely exchange between two characters that is so quick and smart, and the word-play is so fun and subversive, I immediately wished that we spoke that way still, and took pleasure in each others' witticisms, without so many criticisms. Verbal fencing, I call it. (I'm sure I didn't come up with that). It reminded me of a movie that I saw years ago called Wit, about the parlour games of the french aristocracy, before the revolution, I think.
Here's the end of that bit:
She laughed. "I still have the mask."
"It makes your eyes lovelier," was his reply.
She laughed again. Her teeth showed like white seeds in a scarlet fruit.
At the end, Dorian Gray commits an act of mercy. Or, it is by his definition, based on his experience, an act of mercy. Let's say that because he consciously decided to choose differently, he considered it a good act. But when he allows himself to truly reflect, he acknowledges that vanity motivated the act. This is a problem that often comes up when people discuss good actions. In the christian philosophy, a person can spend their entire life committing acts of goodness, helping the needy, giving their riches to the poor, aiding the sick and disadvantaged and still not be good enough to get through the pearly gates. Goodness truly lies within your soul, and if your soul is good, you will naturally do good things. Your conscience won't allow you to commit evil without suffering. Your actions are not separated from your conscience. And many people try to alleviate the guilt that they suffer from by committing "good" acts. Somehow they feel it will balance things out. Sort of like this new trend of the wealthy buying green time. To alleviate the guilt they feel for the damage their daily lives inflict on the environment, their "footprint" as it were, they fund renewable energy enterprise. And I must admit that I have spent some time now asking myself some difficult questions about my motives for doing good. Do I want people to think that I am a better person, or do I truly care about these things? How do my actions reflect my words, and better yet, my true person?
Let's think about how one's friends and one's enemies can act as mirrors to us. How do we perceive ourselves through the perceptions of those closest to us, or our perceptions of their perceptions? And how do we act accordingly? Why are the people we hate our enemies, do we fear the reflection? And the ones who love us, are we flattered and justified by their approval? I hope that my friends will not flatter me unjustly unless I specifically ask them to do so. And I hope that I can see the truth behind my own hate. There is the old adage that we hate in our enemies what we hate in ourselves. I don't necessarily think that that is always true, but if you try to force yourself to see in yourself the traits you hate in others, it keeps you on your toes.
And then there is Art. People have a lot of strong ideas about Art's place in society, how it should be used, the artist and his place in our culture, what is good or bad art. What is art? Art is strong, it offends, it soothes, it unsettles, it explains, it hides things. In the book, there is a desire in the characters for art to stop being connected to ideas, and for it to just be beautiful for the sake of beauty, not to mean anything. One of my best friends Isaac once said of his paintings that they aren't about anything, they don't mean anything. But I don't think so. Perhaps it is because I know him too well, but I can see stories, places, events, people and his relation to them. And here is another problem: Art cannot ever be one way or the other, because a large portion of what art is lies in the perception of the viewer. So the piece that is produced by the amateur in a flurry of emotional passion can have as strong an effect as the piece of the master committed to canvas in a studied obsession over the course of years. And vice versa. And this applies to all human endeavor, not just fine art.
In conclusion, I loved the questions that this book asks, and that I subsequently asked myself. I loved the slice of post-Victorian London Dandyism that was presented. And, I simply adore the writing style of Oscar Wilde, although I must say the pages and pages describing the jewels, tapestries and books that Dorian collected deserved a little more patience and slower reading on my part. It was mildly tedious, but wonderful unknown facts and legends for me.
THE END LA FIN
The book in question is The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. Right before I left Burlington, my sister gave me her copy of this book, which she had recently chosen and read with her book club. Luckily for me, she left her bookmark/note card in the book, revealing to me all of the secret and spontaneous thoughts that her reading adventure inspired. HA! Bet you didn't know THAT, Soupy! But, true to my own philosophy of not allowing the opinions of others to color my experience, I didn't read her notes until I'd finished the book.
On a very basic level, this book deals with the pros and cons of vanity; a timeless topic, one that it seems has and will forever plague our kind. There is also a lot of the nature of love, and passion, and lust, and self-gratification, and reaching for perfection, and how we define perfection. Dorian Gray, the main character in the tale, chooses to live a life spent in the pursuit of sensual pleasure; forsaking the well-being of others, in fact misleading the young and the innocent, for sheer entertainment. He follows a philosophy that was quite popular among the Dandies of the time, they called it aestheticism. Some of the books that influenced the movement were Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mal , and Joris Karl Huysman's A Rebours, the latter of which is referred to throughout the novel as the little yellow book, and I intend to try my darnedest to get my dirty little hands on a copy of it as soon as I possibly can.
Here are some quotes that struck me:
(At the beginning, when Dorian is yet an innocent young buck...)
Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray burying his face in the great cool lilac blossoms, feverishly drinking in their perfume as if it had been wine. He came close to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. "You are quite right to do that," he murmured. "Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
(...and later, when he's had some years of filthy living to stain his soul...)
Then, suddenly, some night he would creep out of the house, go down to dreadful places near Blue Gate Fields, and stay there, day after day, until he was driven away. On his return he would sit in front of the picture, sometimes loathing it and himself, but filled, at other times, with that pride of individualism that is half the fascination of sin, and smiling, with secret pleasure, at the misshapen shadow that had to bear the burden that should have been his own.
Then, there is a lovely exchange between two characters that is so quick and smart, and the word-play is so fun and subversive, I immediately wished that we spoke that way still, and took pleasure in each others' witticisms, without so many criticisms. Verbal fencing, I call it. (I'm sure I didn't come up with that). It reminded me of a movie that I saw years ago called Wit, about the parlour games of the french aristocracy, before the revolution, I think.
Here's the end of that bit:
She laughed. "I still have the mask."
"It makes your eyes lovelier," was his reply.
She laughed again. Her teeth showed like white seeds in a scarlet fruit.
At the end, Dorian Gray commits an act of mercy. Or, it is by his definition, based on his experience, an act of mercy. Let's say that because he consciously decided to choose differently, he considered it a good act. But when he allows himself to truly reflect, he acknowledges that vanity motivated the act. This is a problem that often comes up when people discuss good actions. In the christian philosophy, a person can spend their entire life committing acts of goodness, helping the needy, giving their riches to the poor, aiding the sick and disadvantaged and still not be good enough to get through the pearly gates. Goodness truly lies within your soul, and if your soul is good, you will naturally do good things. Your conscience won't allow you to commit evil without suffering. Your actions are not separated from your conscience. And many people try to alleviate the guilt that they suffer from by committing "good" acts. Somehow they feel it will balance things out. Sort of like this new trend of the wealthy buying green time. To alleviate the guilt they feel for the damage their daily lives inflict on the environment, their "footprint" as it were, they fund renewable energy enterprise. And I must admit that I have spent some time now asking myself some difficult questions about my motives for doing good. Do I want people to think that I am a better person, or do I truly care about these things? How do my actions reflect my words, and better yet, my true person?
Let's think about how one's friends and one's enemies can act as mirrors to us. How do we perceive ourselves through the perceptions of those closest to us, or our perceptions of their perceptions? And how do we act accordingly? Why are the people we hate our enemies, do we fear the reflection? And the ones who love us, are we flattered and justified by their approval? I hope that my friends will not flatter me unjustly unless I specifically ask them to do so. And I hope that I can see the truth behind my own hate. There is the old adage that we hate in our enemies what we hate in ourselves. I don't necessarily think that that is always true, but if you try to force yourself to see in yourself the traits you hate in others, it keeps you on your toes.
And then there is Art. People have a lot of strong ideas about Art's place in society, how it should be used, the artist and his place in our culture, what is good or bad art. What is art? Art is strong, it offends, it soothes, it unsettles, it explains, it hides things. In the book, there is a desire in the characters for art to stop being connected to ideas, and for it to just be beautiful for the sake of beauty, not to mean anything. One of my best friends Isaac once said of his paintings that they aren't about anything, they don't mean anything. But I don't think so. Perhaps it is because I know him too well, but I can see stories, places, events, people and his relation to them. And here is another problem: Art cannot ever be one way or the other, because a large portion of what art is lies in the perception of the viewer. So the piece that is produced by the amateur in a flurry of emotional passion can have as strong an effect as the piece of the master committed to canvas in a studied obsession over the course of years. And vice versa. And this applies to all human endeavor, not just fine art.
In conclusion, I loved the questions that this book asks, and that I subsequently asked myself. I loved the slice of post-Victorian London Dandyism that was presented. And, I simply adore the writing style of Oscar Wilde, although I must say the pages and pages describing the jewels, tapestries and books that Dorian collected deserved a little more patience and slower reading on my part. It was mildly tedious, but wonderful unknown facts and legends for me.
THE END LA FIN
What is in a Name?
My band needs a name. The guys asked me what I thought. I've never really been in this position. It's a very strange sort of on-the-spot. On the one hand, it's flattering to be asked to come up with a name, and empowering to have that sort of input. Because a band's name is very important. It should reflect the sound, and the character of the people involved. It should be intriguing, so that people are curious to hear the music, and it should validate one's loving the sound. So that if someone hears the music and incorporates it into their life, they don't need to feel the hot shame of telling their friends that their favorite auration du jour comes from the likes of "The Fartheads" or "Vomitorium Banquet". (Two names I considered briefly, but then discarded for one of the above reasons...)
I have one idea, but it's from the book I just finished (with a flourish of "holy shit"'s). And I need a moment to recover and process before solidifying my reaction in that way. Does anyone have any ideas? So far I have Monstre Charmant. Hee Hee. That's my brainstorm.
I have one idea, but it's from the book I just finished (with a flourish of "holy shit"'s). And I need a moment to recover and process before solidifying my reaction in that way. Does anyone have any ideas? So far I have Monstre Charmant. Hee Hee. That's my brainstorm.
1.6.07
Unwinding
I am beginning to see a new theme in my day to day. This is the theme of going backward, of taking apart the things I have wound around myself to see what is underneath. To feel what it's like to be me and just be.
For many years, I have stuffed my days full. I have more often than not overextended myself, hating to miss out on any opportunity to be involved. Bands, plays, parties, performances, eves of debauchery, bike rides, rock shows, outdoor adventure, friends friends and more friends! There is always something wonderful to be doing! And then there's work work work to fund the fun!
Now, I'm in a new place where I know very few people, and so instead of these things being placed at my feet daily, they are things that must be searched for. I spent some time looking for them, somewhat desperately, and came up with little that didn't involve a major drive or intense active planning, something I detest.
Then, the other day, I spent two hours unraveling old knitting projects that I don't like any more and rolling the yarn back onto the ball. And baking. And being very still and quiet. And I think that my new life is really an extended vacation. It has taken me 5 months to realise that I actually needed to unwind. I knew that I needed change, but I couldn't imagine what that would look like.
I have become clean. I clean up after myself. I have become neat and tidy. My sewing projects are in order. I am practicing my instruments with more diligence. The last time I was this successful at life was my first year of college, I was miserable. This feels different. I actually want to live my life more deliberately, not losing flexibility, but learning to not always say yes.
On the radio the other day I heard a special about vacations, and that while some people try their best to squeeze as much vaca out of their employers as possible, there is a large chunk of others who don't ever use their vacation time. And the experts say that you need to take at least two weeks off at a time, because it takes one week for you to really relax. This is even more true when you are trying to change the life habit of constantly doing something. I know lots of people who suffer from this one (myself included), and they can't stop, because they'll get sick, physically or mentally, they don't know what to do with themselves and can't just be, not doing anything. It makes you feel guilty, you can't stop thinking of all the things that are being neglected by your inactivity.
I don't think that one way is better than the other, they both have aspects of beautiful living. But each must be given it's own time, and not clung to with too much fervour, perhaps.
For many years, I have stuffed my days full. I have more often than not overextended myself, hating to miss out on any opportunity to be involved. Bands, plays, parties, performances, eves of debauchery, bike rides, rock shows, outdoor adventure, friends friends and more friends! There is always something wonderful to be doing! And then there's work work work to fund the fun!
Now, I'm in a new place where I know very few people, and so instead of these things being placed at my feet daily, they are things that must be searched for. I spent some time looking for them, somewhat desperately, and came up with little that didn't involve a major drive or intense active planning, something I detest.
Then, the other day, I spent two hours unraveling old knitting projects that I don't like any more and rolling the yarn back onto the ball. And baking. And being very still and quiet. And I think that my new life is really an extended vacation. It has taken me 5 months to realise that I actually needed to unwind. I knew that I needed change, but I couldn't imagine what that would look like.
I have become clean. I clean up after myself. I have become neat and tidy. My sewing projects are in order. I am practicing my instruments with more diligence. The last time I was this successful at life was my first year of college, I was miserable. This feels different. I actually want to live my life more deliberately, not losing flexibility, but learning to not always say yes.
On the radio the other day I heard a special about vacations, and that while some people try their best to squeeze as much vaca out of their employers as possible, there is a large chunk of others who don't ever use their vacation time. And the experts say that you need to take at least two weeks off at a time, because it takes one week for you to really relax. This is even more true when you are trying to change the life habit of constantly doing something. I know lots of people who suffer from this one (myself included), and they can't stop, because they'll get sick, physically or mentally, they don't know what to do with themselves and can't just be, not doing anything. It makes you feel guilty, you can't stop thinking of all the things that are being neglected by your inactivity.
I don't think that one way is better than the other, they both have aspects of beautiful living. But each must be given it's own time, and not clung to with too much fervour, perhaps.
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