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Saturday, January 25th, 2003
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8:58 am
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in the unlikely event of motivation - balancing myself with the world at large, i must confess that i am in the dark in terms of proper form & function.
i have yet to come to terms with the modified indulgence and full blown ascetic suffering on behalf of mankind, and it's affecting my abilitty to enjoy my youthfulness.
there is a twisting knot in my lower gut, and a sensitivity in my hindquarters that i'm convinced if i unleash will unnerve a bountiful outpouring of emotional sewage.
that is, reading up on the theory of kiryayoga, which i've been practicing since mid december, it states that people with emotional and mental anxieties and disorders have an unfathomable tightness and wound up ball of sad energy behind the knee caps. i attempted a simple stretch after that and discovered that i simply couldn't. doing an hour or so of poses in that area made me a wreck, my nerves were shattered, my nervous energy finally free yet displaced throughout my body, shaking... it was quite a trip, really.
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| Sunday, November 10th, 2002
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4:51 pm
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last night i began the search for the perfect tincture, and ended up at a thai restaurant with hirohito. i could not concentrate, and felt rather alone and despondent. there's this aching dull feeling in my chest and every street looks slippery.
my ability to communicate is rapidly declining.
i feel autistic.
on my way back i stopped in this tiny misplaced travel shop on a washington street. i say misplaced because i can't imagine the adveturistic spirit of fellow hobokians that would economically justify such prime real estate.
the properiter was nice.
i have this strange knack of being unable to articulate the slightest of things.
but after leaving i suddenly felt rejuvinated beyond recognition and i'm thinking, perhaps i don't need st johns or enlightenment or such and such, perhaps all i need is a little decent human contact.
obviously, i am desirious to do a little bit of travelling, if only for two weeks around europe.
and china?
i want to go back to school, and i might in the summer.
i also want to move out, which i can almost garuntee i'll do in the late winter / spring.
i am thinking inwood, hoboken, or manhattan. something close would be grand, but it does not matter.
my birthday passed on friday, and hence included some uncomfortable socailizing with my family. Surprisingly, the least offensive person to deal with was my brother. His apartment is absolutely gorgeous, as are his dogs.
i am going to see jessica in 3 weeks.
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| Friday, November 8th, 2002
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9:08 am
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| Saturday, November 2nd, 2002
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7:17 pm
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the Saturday ritual of acupuncture and a panicked stroll around commenced without a hitch. they did a few points in my neck to counteract the awful strain ive developed from my bag. its a very fashionable bag, so it goes well with the very fashionable way of treatment.
afterwards i hit the lower east side area on a tip from some ny dharma web site that i could find a decent zafu.
i couldn't.
the gentleman at the tibetan store laughed at me and shook his head when i asked. perhaps it's because he gets that type of question a lot; like asking a random asian guy where the best chop suey take out can be found. on the way out the door i kept trying to understand his nervous laughter. it was nervous and uncomfortable, yes, but also contained a bit of cockiness and condescension towards me.
well, where can an affordable zafu be found! i wouldn't mind a hand me down or used one (there are none on ebay). but the cheapest out there is around 55 bucks, and although i have some disposable income ive promised myself never to try and buy good results that can only be found in steady practice.
i wonder if i was always a timid child or if it just became invasive during my experiment with adulthood. i suppose those who know me, of which I can count on half a hand, would say that I am completely the opposite, making the situation all that confounding. i brought a camera along with me and took no pictures. partly because i didn't want to stop moving, partly because there was nothing all that inspiring to photograph, and partly because i did not want anyone to notice me taking pictures of them.
im not sure if i would particularly call it loneliness. i am lonely, but i see no walls between me and the plethora of people that i could talk to. in fact, near the farmers market there were two people sitting next to a sign that said "talk to me." well, i don't think one could ask for a more obvious invitation than that, and i debated going over and talking with them, if only for the grand experiment of it all, but i passed by and got a cookie instead. so i doubt that its being "a lone", and although i question the notion of fear, it's probably more because i am rather apathetic at introducing and adjusting myself to another persons presentation. this has nothing to do with romantic randian ideals of individual non conformity, although i do let myself believe that nonsense sometimes, no, i think it has more to do with the fact that i'm apathetic to sociality because of my horrific sense of self worth. years of adolescent isolation has left me without any positive reinforcement. on an intellectual level, i count this as a blessing, because there are far too many over praised little bastards running around snotting up the hand rails on the 6 train.
it was a vegan oatmeal raisin cookie and despite weighing rather heavily on my small intestine i kept eating it until 6th avenue. people and their food habits are like cats and dogs with theirs. a hunter cat will eat until he is satisfied, a scavenger dog will eat until his stomach ruptures. i am a dog.
i think this train of weary depressed thought comes from witnessing a group of people presumably my age sitting around a table on Friday night at my favorite eatery laughing it up. and while their laughter did deter my finishing mote's tomb of imperial china, i felt out of sorts.
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| Sunday, October 27th, 2002
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6:29 pm
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my day was spent in dread over absolutely nothing (aside from the occasional invasive voice of my mother suffocating my skull with criticism).
ive come to conclusion that she isn't altogether bad
just a 52 year old housewife (unhappy)
rents on this side of the river are dropping, yes, jersey city dipping down to the $800 range and hoboken around $975. even out of the way manhattan dwellings around around the very low 1000s --
i'm in no rush, and patient too. im sure there's some sort of splendid economic theory postulating about how when the economy is bad the real estate market opens up. well, yay.
ive been lightly pursuing amateur research re: the buddhist/daoist persecution throughout chinese history (specifically during the Communist & cultural revolution china) .
mmm, im distracted.
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| Saturday, October 12th, 2002
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9:51 pm
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How sleek must be our footsteps
to move so quiet on cloud-damp pavement --
On seeing dropping gums and puzzled fore brows
we step aside to let them pass into the passing
And though their village is our own
We are now strangers here, unwilling to
contribute to the sound that knows no shame
And though their flesh is wet like yours
the late autumn blowing leaves no impression
but the chore of cracking timber; weeks to come
{incomplete}
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6:43 pm
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i have been poked again,
and afterwards dined at wash sq dojos which might have been the quickest meal of my life
(i enjoy moving in the rain, but not sitting still in my own eternal clammy damp)
i stumbled upon the bobst library and all its undiscovered glory, going up to the film & audio center and settling into the chambers of every possible piece of obscure footage i could possibly view in a lifetime ...!
i selected a little documentary on chinese art & its relation of the chinese cultural revolution & afterwards had a near panic attack over the very freedom that I could spend hours upon hours there learning every possible thing imaginable ... oh what to choose! where to start!
so in typical fashion, i left.
i browsed the beautiful raincoats of macys, passing them up in hopes to find something more plain and generic & came home; an 8 hour sojourn into the wilderness
i am rather dejected for some strange reason, my mind slightly cloudy with some unmentionable tidbits of nonsense -- my reading concentration comes and goes, but i did manage to set up a rather complicated system of post it notes that i can attach to the pages
cous cous be thy name
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| Friday, October 11th, 2002
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8:17 am
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bookofillusions - auster has managed to do his best john irving imitation; albeit its slimmer and less conscious to cover up the blatant maudlin weakness of the characters // they are just not interesting, convincing yes, admirable no. they walk blindfolded through the world they create bumping off of one another, holding a loaded gun threatening to shoot themselves if they get tired of it all. weakness prevents it and it grows tired. the mystery (hector) is surrounded by the boring (david), it's his story, his life, and you get the feeling that he doesn't really deserve to have something this fascinating happen to him, and when it does, you kind of wish he wouldn't take it for granted. he's bitter. he has an attitude. theres an edge in his inner dialogue that insults the readership -- he's cocky and i dont like him.
i debated throwing the book across the breakroom floor when finishing // ive begun all the names / my fingers are shaking from the coffee ... it was all worth it though
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| Sunday, October 6th, 2002
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4:18 pm
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an' my bellys cravin
i got a shakin in my head
and ive got to start to heedin'
what my brothers said
stab yrself with the grains of cocaine
and you'll end up dead
or you'll end up insane
and its real
and its real
one more time
mmmmm
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8:32 am
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The goliath that is Phillip Short's Mao left me wanting more. I get the feeling that he was instructed to cut an additional 100 pages from the publishing house -- the second half is not nearly as informative as the first. We don't really get to know him, and despite the fact that he is Mao, and nobody did the purpose of the biography is to bring the reader into at the very least, a hypothesis of who he is. (Speculation in non fiction is not a crime and useful if not used condescendingly.) There are probably not a lot (not yet) of credible Western sources on the man -- Spence's is a meager in comparison -- but the most imaginative by far i Li Zhisui's The Private Life of Chairman Maowhere he draws on his experience being his personal physician...
---
austerlitz bored me to death, and i stopped reading it in disgust
my stickings have been going well. i told them to get aggressive with the treatment... they added more points, one on the top of my foot, which rather hurt quite a bit. i fell into a 20 minute trance, neither awake or asleep, but on another plane of consciousness (not necessarily higher, just another) -- i walked hours upon hours, down to chinatown for lunch, to the seaport / wall street, and back up to the west side near this coffee house & bakery
a man called me towards him and i looked & kept walking
im a little dissapointed in myself for that
experience tells he most likely would have asked for money, which i don't give out anymore for various reasons -- but instead could have offered a cup of coffee or snack
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| Friday, October 4th, 2002
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11:45 pm
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in the quiet hours, evening bitch flesh turns to tenderness
whipping itself against the grain of night
crowns of light slap against the back of
aches in torment
he could crawl inside extremes
with bended knee, dragging her lipstick
across cut glass and shattered smiles
to write on her forehead
i can not read your poetry,
and its boring anyway
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| Thursday, October 3rd, 2002
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8:24 pm
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| Tuesday, October 1st, 2002
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10:17 pm
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(fucking around before bedtime! ah, obsession)
now the hours quiet
evening bitch flesh turns to tender; where it
ripples against the labels of fortune
where crowns of light see black and white
and avoid the thought dreams that are seen in peacefulness
a mind gasps, mumbles, it sighs;
thinks: memories so noble, so true, are dare so often bored --
& now your back turns to greet her rape face "oh, good morrow!"
pitiness hangs so tough upon the fishing line outside
the sun beats down without a job to do
there is no wet
there is no courage to cut yourself from your limbs
and drip the back weight off one drop at a time
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| Sunday, September 29th, 2002
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8:07 pm
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| Wednesday, September 25th, 2002
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9:24 pm
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I think I'll write that Xingjian fella' a good long letter about his book. I'm sure he would like nothing more than to ..... [bored by my own train of thought]
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9:20 pm
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If there's a fault in the Shields literary canon, it's that he's too smart for his own good, relies too heavily on his mind, and feels appropriate in transcending basic plot convention. I overheard, for example, some pedants at the Strand last Saturday:
"...he's ostensibly boring to anyone who doesn't belong to his inner circle of quick witt'd peers. Sure, I'd fuck him, but it would be more for his tongue and not his fingers..."
And it's true, perhaps, that one would find him without substance or depth, without genuine emotion, and without, perhaps, a personality that is personal.
He chooses to write about his observations, but seemingly and purposefully leaves out how these very observations weigh on him. The observations are powerful, but they are fleeting and temporary, and we come to the conclusion that it is the observer that we truly want to know.
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| Saturday, September 21st, 2002
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9:00 am
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| Friday, September 20th, 2002
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11:08 pm
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(lonely Friday night goofiness:)
nobody looked at me tonight, again
even though i wore the portrait
you painted from old magazines and sweater catalogs
i hung it from my lip, you know
and illuminated my magnificent designs
and didn't even speak of the magnolias on the doorstep
oh, i'm so hungry and feel ever so pretty
and i see this note you left; how sweet!
there's codeine in the oven for those sell themselves by the yard
Oh & despite my scathing bitchiness of earlier, here is a passage I underlined from the opening pages >>>
"These horrors were really nonexistent. A man of the Middle Ages would detest the whole mode of our present-day life as something far more than horrible, far more than barbarous. Every age, every culture, ever custom and tradition has its own character, its own weakness and its own strength, its beauties and ugliness; accepts certain sufferings as matters of course, puts up patiently with certain evils. Human life is reduced to real suffering, to hell, only when two ages, two cultures and religions overlap. A man of the Classical Age who had to live in medieval times would suffocate miserable just as a savage does in the midst of our civilization. Now there are times when a whole generation is caught int his way between two ages, two modes of life, with the consequence that it loses all power to understand itself and has no standard, no security, no simple acquiescence. Naturally, every one does not feel this equally strongly. A nature such as Nietzsche's had tos suffer our present ills more than a generation in advance. What he had to go through alone and misunderstand, thousands suffer today." -- Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf.
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8:25 pm
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FOR all its intellectual posturing & theory, steppenwolf is rather dull and underdeveloped. the blame goes to harry himself -- he whines and smells like old // the conflict is readily accessible on a cerebral level, and that's exactly the problem, he's exploring the route to understand life, not live it. i'm interested in his solution, if he stumbles upon one, but he's so devoid of romantic sympathy that the hell with him, i'd rather fancy pablo, hermine and the likes
so i was in good conscious able to start gao xianjians latest (approriately enough at my chinese restaurant)
i had read his first, soul mountain, at such a time in my life that it made a grand impression on me i couldn't help but think what it would like to persue other alternatives
i remember carrying the 500+ tomb around in my napsack during my visit to paris, going from cafe to cafe reading and smoking and consuming large amounts of cafe au lait
it was a maddening time full of nervous anxiety & misplaced emotions. now i read his latestsomewhat calmer and more mature, and i think he is the same
it occurs to me that i only read contemporary authors that are from another place. if its true that our world is slowly losing its tangible reality, perhaps its because their tragedy and trauma are the only thing that are truly accessible....
perhaps its part of the human desire to suffer, or at least, know of it.
american writers can not write of it because they have not experienced it. their talent lies in self deprecation and mocking, in satire and half wittism, in making us laugh, in making us forget that our sickness and depravity really serves no purpose...
im generalizing, of course
i adore kingsolver
and admired chabon's failure for its ambition
(& franzens too)
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| Thursday, September 19th, 2002
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8:18 pm
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some might say there are advantages to living near a major metropolitan city
i usually wouldn't
except i do have an opportunity to go to an alternative medicine clinic for an examination
the appointment is next Saturday
its practically free & well intended
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