July 30, 2005
Tell me a secret
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I was looking for a hanko case online and stumbled across this.
The character (in the red circle) over the forehead of the girl is the word for "quiet". Hee.
Posted by sniffles at 04:13 PM | Comments (0)The summer heat makes it too stifling to write, the summer light bleaches any desire to photograph. I lack a piano, my fingers were never made for a guitar, but, if necessary, I can be persuaded to use my vocal chords.
Posted by sniffles at 11:38 PM | Comments (2)Posted by sniffles at 09:40 PM | Comments (1)In my religion all believers would stop work at sundown and have a drink together 'pour chasser la honte du jour'. This would be taken in remembrance of the first sunset when man must have thought the oncoming night would prove eternal, and in honour of the gift of wine to Noah as a relief from the abysmal boredom of the brave new world after the flood. Hence the institution of my 'Sundowner' which all believers, whether acquainted or not, would render holy that moment of nostalgia and evening apprehension. Brevis hic est fructus homullis. In my religion there would be no exclusive doctrine; all would be love, poetry and doubt. Life would be sacred, because it is all we have and death, our common denominator, the fountain of consideration. The Cycle of the Seasons would be rhythmically celebrated together with the Seven Ages of Man, his Identity with all living things, his glorious Reason and his sacred Instinctual Drives.
-- "The Unquiet Grave", Palinurus
They would huddle under the blanket on a brisk cold morning on the sidewalk, with only glimpses of their hair or their socks, full of holes, peeking out either end. Her hair was pale blonde, his a dark brown that has not yet seen grey. Some mornings, by the time I walk past on the way to work, they were already sitting up, back against the wall, drinking coffee, smiling at passers-by, and I catch myself envying them for their freedom – that they live in an unrestrained world, a world with every variable not yet defined.
But I know better, because I have been there before, and I know that kind of freedom is elusive and has a heavy price. The freedom that does not bind you to a regularity, the kind of freedom that does not lend you the landing lights on the airstrip means you can crash-land anywhere. The kind of freedom that imprisons you and makes you its slave, if you have no means to get away.
They were a sweet pair – uncharacteristically tidy, given their circumstance. Many a day I have said hello, and on occasion given change when asked for. Besides, they were always polite. I have a rule of thumb – you have to give enough to buy a coffee – otherwise, it might as well be an insult.
Then one day the shop re-dressed its windows in time for the Jazz Festival and then one day, they were gone. Were they asked to leave? I wondered. After all, the shop’s windows were cool and classy – in every classical sense of the word. Black, silver, steel, pearl – “fais-moi jazzer”, it proclaimed. It wouldn’t have fit, having the two of them there, sprawled comfortably, as much as they could be, beneath this black-canvas mannequin impression of an ultra-hyper-uber-cool stuffy petit bourgeois understanding of jazz.
But that was that. Freedom, and its price.
~~~~~~~
I detoured innumerable times on the way home, with the knowledge that I had nothing planned, which meant every option was a plausible choice. Improvise, ornamentalise, embellish. Pick a note to begin with, such that it gives you the next possible range of notes to move onto. Choose a point, narrow your possibilities, and then do the twist around the turn that explores the edge of a well-known pattern, see how far you can push without falling out of line. Such is the essence of jazz.
I walked down the hill, past a familiar empty lot of land, and there she was, blonde, almost bleach-white under the sun, sitting on a large block of concrete that marked the edge of the plot. She smiled and asked sweetly, “Can you please spare some change?” She couldn’t have been older than me but already she wore wrinkles. Nature had not been kind to her.
Suddenly I felt myself rammed up against the brickwall that is the unforgiving social gap. I am a “have”, she is a “have-not”. And for crying out loud, I don’t know why I am a “have” and she is a “have-not”, but we both exist and we are both human and we both smile the same way; we both love the world for what it is and it is written in the depth our eyes. Who am I to deserve what I have, who is she to deserve her destiny?
I asked her how she had been, telling her I remember her from their cosy downtown shelter. How is she? Is everything going well? She told me her boyfriend had found a job. One day a week, carting boxes in a shop just across the street. She pointed. I didn’t turn to look; I knew the shop.
When I finally said goodbye and left, I looked back and saw her looking down at the shine of coins in her hands, a smile playing on the corner of her lips. I felt desperately poor, useless, helpless.
Over the horizon, lightning glimmered as stage-light caught upon the edge of cymbals. Thunder like a thousand untuned timpanis.
My heart hurt.
Contributed to Yulzine: Duality.
Posted by sniffles at 11:17 AM | Comments (4)
I rang the camera shop today about the status of my beloved G5, and they told me it'll be another two weeks or so before I'd get it back. Fortunately, it's an affordable repair. I have missed it, but summer light being what it is, I'm okay without it for a little while. I have several film cameras at my disposal, but sometimes, one can afford to have a little play with what's available ...
Posted by sniffles at 12:08 AM | Comments (2)
Except Pebble has only 3 toes on her right forepaw, due to a nasty accident with a baby hamster. She seems to be cool about it though, and does the three-finger salute really well.
Posted by sniffles at 05:55 PM | Comments (5)
We were wandered out to the market with grand plans of culinary adventures, and found this strange pasta that looked like something you can wear. Then it appears that it was designed to be stuffed. We don't have photo evidence of the first batch of experiments - ricotta, fleur d'ail, and a few leaves of something resembling a variety of lettuce that came in our weekly organic vegetable basket, with some dribbles of some very excellent pesto. The second round of experimentation included sundried tomatoes, ricotta and basil and was certainly the more successful of the two.
Apologies for having been mostly absent. I think I'd been spending too much time cooking and eating :) Photos will be scarce for a while until my beloved Canon G5 is repaired ...
Photo courtesy of Garrett.
Posted by sniffles at 12:06 AM | Comments (3)