grey_damaskena

I said I was going to stop posting links, but this one made my jaw drop in disbelief.

GOP Purity Test Could Trip Up Castle

Yes, you're off to the NYTimes this link-around. I just . . . I don't even know what to say about this. The race in Delaware is one thing-- I don't know anything about it, really-- much more amazing is the list of ten proposals under consideration to be the "Purity Test." I don't know where to start. Is this a joke? Is the Republican Party trying to self destruct? Did someone walk the GOP into a cemetary, hand it a shovel, and tell it that if it kept digging it'd end up in China where people walk around all upside-downie? Oh, and pay no attention to the cement mixer sitting right here with the pastor and the happy people in black with the white lillies?

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

I thought, after writing that, that I should go back and mention why these points are completely idiotic. Why the very idea of a "purity test" is completely idiotic. And so I went back to the article, and tried to reread it, and found myself once again struck dumb by the incredible stupidity presented to my brain. I think I regressed a step or two down my genetic evolutionary history just from looking at it.

Now I want to go watch Colbert Nation to see if he's mentioned this at all. Where I have failed, perhaps he can succeed!

A friend of mine, misspaulette, posted this video, and I found it shivery and wonderful, so I've brought it over here.



This world is full of wonders, and they're trying to compile them all over at the Atlas Obscura. Truly, we live in an amazing world.

I started reading this manga which is set in central Asia in the 19th century, and it's incredibly gorgeous. It's very quiet and slow-paced, but who cares? I'm happy just staring at a particularly detailed panel for ages and ages.

It amuses me that I just started a new GoogleDocs folder entitled "Research," and the first document in it is an article "clipped" from Slate entitled "Blood Drinking 101."

Speaking of Slate, there were a lot of interesting articles recently. This book review of "When Everything Changed" had a lot of interesting points as well as information on the history of the feminist movement, and how that history (quite a noble one) is often distorted or ignored today. This article on the Fort Hood shootings had some interesting points to make about how that story has developed in the media, and also poses some interesting questions, albeit in an overly blunt way. This article on the next international superpower likewise makes some interesting points, though again goes a little bit far in its conclusions.

One thing that must be kept in mind while reading Slate is that, while it does have some solid reporting and make some good calls, it is a magazine and not a newspaper. Thus even the best article is going to contain the author's personal conclusions from the facts presented. Essentially it's like reading the editorials: the author will do their best to convince you of their point of view, and you have to decide on your own whether you agree or disagree. But since fact and opinion are thrown in side-by-side, you have to read carefully and make sure to separate the two in your mind.

Am I excited about the AVATAR movie? Yes, yes I am. Am I going to move heaven and earth so I can see it on a 3D IMAX screen? Yes, yes I am. From what I can tell so far, the story is pretty much tried-and-true, and I'm not expecting any surprises there. But oh gods, it looks so beautiful. Why am I suddenly all on about this? Because I was reading this review of their new interactive trailer. I'll have to play it when I finally get home tonight . . .

No, this movie has nothing to do with cute quasi-Tibetan child-monk airbenders named Aang, or the associated Movie of Great Casting Fail. Bad timing in the names, that.

This interview with Rain about his latest movie amused the heck out of me. Read through to the end, that's where the funny is.

I could just keep going, but I think I'm going to stop there. Huzzah for disjointed link-filled posts!

untitled, by E. Ethelbert Miller

when there are no more poems to be written
go & wake the dead
tell them that the war is over
that victory is ours
tell them that the living too
have found peace


So exhausted, riding my bike home from the station. Past a certain hour more of the lights go out, though the low overcast sky was still brightened with their reflected shine. In contrast the mountains beyond the harvested rice fields were dark and soft-- and I just wanted to pull them around me, disappear in that close and comforting darkness and sleep forever.

At my shakuhachi lesson the other day, Sensei and I were talking about this and that. "There's an English expression for that," I said, in response to wharever he had said. "It goes, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions.'"

"Yes, I know," he chuckled. But apparently it reminded him of something. "In Tibetan Buddhism, they believe this: when you die, you will be walking down a long road, only you. And then you will see that the road spilts, and there are two lights, one on either side. On one side the light is very bright, very welcoming. The road is very easy and clear. There are no obstacles. Most people choose this light.

"The other light is dark, it is not strong. It is hard to see, and the road is not good. But you must choose this light. If you walk towards this light, you will go to Paradise."

"And where will you go," I asked, "if you choose the other light?"

"Hell," Sensei said, laughing a little, "back to this world. This world is hell." He laughed again.

I also laughed. "But even knowing that," I said, "I think I would still choose the bright light."

"Yes," Sensei said, "Me too."

Some day, it will happen like this:

My great-grandnephew will come up to me, stylus in hand. "Gran-nana," he'll say to me, "I gotta talk to an old person for homework, and Granpa says you're older than, I dunno. Rocks, or something."

I'll laugh. "Your grandpa Henry's not far off. I knew these here mountains when they were just gravel hills in a saber-tooth kitty's litterbox. So what's your homework?"

"Gotta ask 'bout a social issue from back then." He'll consult his screen. "Lessee. Was it really true that gay people couldn't get married?"

"True as true," I'll say solemnly.

"That's dumb," he'll say, with all the scorn of the young and wise. "Why not?"

"Well," I'll say, "I've had a long time to think about it, watching these mountains get big. And I've thought and I've thought, but I gotta tell you, laddie-- I still have no earthly idea."

For some reason I see rainbows more often in Japan than I ever have in my life. Case in point: today is a day full of bluster, tumultuous after yesterday’s pounding rains. Clouds with dark, heavy bellies full of rain chase across the sky, their towering billows incandescent white with sun.

My school is perched high up on a hill; every morning the students strain at an improbable angle, pushing their bikes up the road. From the fourth floor the entire basin leading up to Kyoto City is laid out, contained within the surrounding folds of the mountains. The mountains on the left, to which the school-hill aspires, are just beginning to don their autumn colors, and bright shades hide among the green, which is already tinged more yellow than the summer's foliage. Moving your gaze to the right is like unfurling a picture-scroll: the mountains fall away and back, layer by layer. The heart of Kyoto is illuminated in bright sunlight, white and shining as a city from a fairy tale, distant as a dream. The mountains beyond are dark beneath the clouds, shrouded by low-lying mists. They disappear gradually into grey, exactly like an ink painting, merging with the clouds so there is no difference between land and sky. And rising from the city, superimposed over the mountains like a watercolor wash, the faint jewel tones of a rainbow's wide base slant upwards in a brilliant mist.

In an old Chinese story, a master asked to define the essence of Buddhism said, "Don't do evil, do only good." The questioner said, "What's so special about that? Even a child knows that!" "Well, then," said the master, "if even a child knows that, why can't you do it?"

~paraphrased from Lost Japan, by Alex Kerr


***************************************************

This kind of story is the reason why I like Buddhism best of all the religions I've encountered.

If you can see this message, it means that I am monitoring you. Please be aware that any suspicious activity on your part will be reported, by me, to the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations. You should expect a court summons to arrive at your home in the near future. However, if you report to me the names of other suspicious persons, I'm sure we can work out out some kind of deal.

Whose side am I on? If you're asking that question you're obviously not on my side. And we all know that if you're not with us you're against us. And if you're against us, you're on the side of Eeeeevil.

Yeah, that's right. Eeeeevil.



Congratulations, you've just participated in a Cold War reenactment event! Oh, you didn't want to participate in the Cold War? Well, neither did most of the parties involved in the Cold War! Please do your part in fostering an environment of confusion, suspicion and fear by accusing everyone around you!

Remember, kids, in Soviet Russia Google searches you.

Today is the type of day I hate; the sky is flat and gray, without differentiation, but it does not rain. Beyond a kilometer or two, the world becomes enveloped in a low, unpleasant haze, so the distant mountains are only just visible. The air is just slightly raw, hinting at winter though the trees have not even begun to change.

I returned tired from a wonderful weekend in Kobe last night to call my family. My father's birthday is in two days, and I imagined that everyone would be celebrating it.

My mother answered the phone, upset; the others had all gone out. And so I listened, near-silent, to two hours of bitterness, a recounting of broken dreams and lost hopes, of conflicting desires and contradictions, of a lifetime of wrongs done, of resentment and the betrayals of aging.

What can I possibly say? Nothing, and it would not be heard anyway. There is a person twisting in that labyrinth of pain, and I can see her, and I can't bring her out of it, and she will never find the way herself. Sometimes I don't think she wants to leave it. It's easier to blame others than to take action-- and self pity can be so very sweet a balm to the wounds of sharp-edged reality.

Today anger has built beside my sorrow. Yesterday was not just any day-- it was a very special day for my sister, and one that she's been looking forward to for months. Aside from it being a birthday-- those happen every year, another one will come around with another chance for a celebratory day-- it was to be the day of my sister's Important Announcement to my parents. Why of all days did my mother have to choose yesterday to release the pent-up vitriol of her entire life? Why on that day, which was to be filled with joy?

Because now each and every one of us will remember it for our entire lives. As my mother recounted the bitterness of her mother, which she suffered as a child . . . so too shall my sister, her daughter, carry this day in her heart like a stone.

Why does it have to be this way? Is there no escaping this cycle, suffering inflicted on the innocent in return for suffering inflicted when we were innocent? Why can we not forget, why do we carry this with us, an heirloom passed lovingly from generation to generation?

There is one saving grace for today-- the wind is blowing, cold and constant. I stood on the bridge between buildings, watching my students walk by below, and willed that it should blow through me, hollow out my heart and leave nothing behind. A ripping sound heralded a crow, which swooped from behind me to perch on the corner of the ugly cement building. Occasionally my students noticed me up there; occasionally they waved. There were pink roses blooming in the flower beds; there were cars parked-- hard, flat shades of red and blue and silver and white.

I made chocolate pudding day-before-yesterday. I am hereby retitling it "Bitter Chocolate Death Pudding," in tribute to a dessert of the same name from Robin McKinley's excellent book Sunshine, for the following reasons:

1.) It tastes gorgeous. It's bitter. It's sweet. It's heavy. It's creamy. It's smooth. It's fantastically good. Just make sure you have a lot of milk on hand to wash it down with.

2.) It's full of things that are terrible for you. For serious. You gain weight and increase your risk of heart disease just by looking at the recipe. Which I am thoughtfully posting down below.

3.) It looks a bit of a mess. All brown and cracked with pools of condensed water and a strange puckered skin. Which happens to taste awesome. Of course, this could just be because I'm a terrible cook. Or it could be because I forgot about the part of the recipe concerning the plastic wrap.

4.) Your immortal soul is a suitable payment for this recipe.

5.) It's easy. Granted I don't cook anything unless its easy, but this? Is really easy.

( Bitter Chocolate Death Pudding Recipe )

I made it using Meiji black bars as my dark chocolate, which you can buy in any combini in Japan. Oh, also, double the amount of vanilla in the recipe. One of my cooking tenants is that, if the recipe calls for vanilla, you can't possibly put in too much.

The only problem with the pudding is the fact that it's still a little lumpy-- possibly due to the old cornstarch, possibly due to the old sugar, I dunno. I have to do more to make sure it's smooth and even in the future. But it still tastes like Twilight fans imagine sex with Edward Cullen feels.

Which reminds me! Since I don't seem to tire of making fun of badly-written books . . . Yoinked from mydochas:

"You don't want to get involved with me," Nightcuddles warned, his nostrils flaring with glittering contempt. "I'm.... different."

"You're a vampire pony?" Casey asked.

"I'm dangerous," Nightcuddles continued, his mane glittering in the sun.

"You're a vampire pony?" Casey asked.

Nightcuddles looked to the sky and thought thoughtfully. "People who love me... things happen to them. Horrible things. Sometimes bitey things." He looked to the ground. "Really bitey things."

"You're a vampire pony?" Casey asked.

Nightcuddles looked deeply into Casey's eyes. "I'm a vampire pony," he whinnied.

Casey stumbled back in shock. "What? That's insanity! Glittery insanity!"

You know how I mentioned Robin McKinley's Sunshine up above? That would be an example of an awesome, well-written, celestially-titled book with vampires.

I have received some prompts for my last post, and I have some ideas. I just don't have the leisure to write them. But I'll try to answer them, or at least as many as I can.

OMG DAN BROWN PLOT GENERATOR!

It's funny because it's true. Here's a bonus article on his aquaticly tallented heroes and purple prose!

Also, it warms the cockles of my heart to be reminded once again that President Obama is a huge geek.

All the cool kids are doing it!


( The Great Multifandom Etc A-Z Drabbling Meme! )

A while ago, as you probably don't recall, an altercation between myself and my cat resulted in the removal of three keys from my laptop keyboard. Thus was I faced with the annoying lack of ability to type the letter "n," a lack that I remedied simply by copying that letter and pasting it in with a keyboard shortcut every time I needed to type it.

I purchased new laptop keys, a minimal expense, so that I could replace them. The problem was mainly the "n" key, and replacing it was a somewhat titchy job since not just the key but the tiny rubber nub with its inset grain of plastic (the part that does the actual work of conveying "n" to the computer) had to be replaced. I found online tutorials; it seemed quite doable. Simply remove the remnants of the old rubber piece and glue in the new one.

Except somehow in the process of doing this, my space bar and the "b" key stopped working. AND I didn't manage to fix the "n" key.

GAH.

No "n" key I could deal with, but lacking both "n," "b," and the space bar?

It stretched my writerly muscles, but I managed to write without "b" for an entire evening (avoiding the word "be" proved to be the most difficult challenge). "N," however, I cannot do without, so I forced those I was communicating with todealwithsentencesthatlookedlikethisfortherestofthenight.

They did so without complaint, but it made me want to kill people. Or break stuff, or something.

So now I have some options:

A.) Buy a new laptop - I don't want to do this. The old one works perfectly well, it's just the keyboard that's fucked.

B.) Try to find a laptop repair place - made rather more difficult by the fact that, well, I'm in Japan. I'm sure that such places abound in Osaka, but how the heck am I to find one? I probably wouldn't recognize one even if it hailed me from a street corner in a maid costume and gave me a packet of tissues bearing a map.

C.) Wait to get my laptop repaired until I return to the US of A over Christmas - the easiest option, and I've already found places that will do the procedure in less than an hour. It leaves me in a bit of a lurch for the time being, though, since I can't go three months without the ability to type. I could buy myself a keyboard to use with my laptop without much problem, I'm sure, but again I balk at the waste, since what will I use it for once my laptop is repaired?

Ignoring A, I guess I will pursue B and C . . .

I was randomly reading a news story on an anti-abortion protester who was killed in Michigan. I originally searched for the story because I was curious about the killer's motive; alas my curiosity went unsatisfied (save that it appears to have nothing to do with the fact that the man was a protester beyond the possibility that he might have pissed off the shooter at some point). However, it was interesting to me that the Associated Press article said that, at the time he was shot, the protester was holding a sign depicting "an aborted fetus," and the Fox News story said that he was holding a sign depicting "a baby."

USA Today, meanwhile, said that the man "was in his usual spot holding a sign that pictured a chubby-cheeked baby with the word 'LIFE' on one side and an image of an aborted fetus with the word 'ABORTION' on the other."

Continuing with the theme of current events, here's an article about a Slate reporter wandering through the recent 9/12 protest. Conservative-themed protest marches still make me blink in surprise, for exactly the reasons that the reporter outlines.

On an entirely different note, I love this poem something fierce right now:

( Your Catfish Friend, by Richard Brautigan )


Again, my apologies, but I still haven't put together a decent India post.

I haven't read anything by Kazuo Ishiguro, but I must say the man has a gift for incredibly poetic and evocative titles. Each and every one of them makes me want to read the book that bears it.

For those of you waiting for India ramblings, I'm afraid you must wait longer, for deadlines are pressing and I have instead devoted my time to fanfic for saiun_challenge. Sorry!

( Saiunkoku: Ariel )

I have returned to Japan!

Coming back was a euphoric experience, possibly enhanced by sleep deprivation self-medicated with large amounts of caffeine. My heart ached with love for Kansai Airport, which whisked me from my plane, through passport check, past the luggage carousel, and through customs out the arrivals door in less than 15 minutes. 15 minutes after that, I was on the Nankai Rapi:d Beta (I fondly refer to it as "the Bubble Train" due to its large oval windows and blue exterior) bound for Osaka with a bag of snacks and cold bottles of tea, luxuriating in the cleanliness and ease of it all.

Japan is freaking WEIRD, though, it cannot be overstated. I mean, okay, the US of A is pretty weird, too, but Japan's weirdness is of a different sort. For instance, not too long ago I was surprised to find that a white building with imposing columns and NeoClassical architecture had sprung up in my town. It looked like it was stolen off a street in Washington DC. Walking past, I noticed the inscription on the portico:

HAPPY SCIENCE

I stopped dead on the sidewalk, staring, trying to get my brain to compute this information and adjust to the unexpected expansion of my horizons, the onset of the knowledge that once again the world had proven itself stranger than I had previously been aware. I mean, who the heck built this imposing and no doubt expensive edifice and then scarred their creation with the words Happy Science? Couldn't they have apportioned 100円 of their immense budget to a native English speaker who would inform them in less than a minute that "happy science" was a laughable construction? What the heck was the Happy Science Building for, anyway? What would one do in Happy Science Building? Did this organization study the science of being happy, or did they carry out their pursuit of science with great joy?

As time passed I noticed the addition of distinctive Japanese politicans' posters to the outside of the building (a study all by themselves). Immediately this opened new lines of speculation; the edifice had some sort of political affiliation. Perhaps it supported a party-- perhaps it was a party. Certainly it was in-keeping with Japan's trends in the strange to have a Happy Science Party, ridiculous as it seemed.

Today, thanks to this article, I have learned that the Happy Science Party-- or rather, the Hapiness Realization Party-- is not merely a weird political party, it's also a weird cult. It kind of reminds me of Scientology, what with the prices of statues and prayers. It further amuses me that the founder, Ryuho Okawa, has written many books, and in one of which

"(h)e actually refers to his experience in starting a religion from scratch and building it into the 'largest organisation in Japan' in terms of running a business and the power of manipulating people!"

according to the article.

The Wikipedia entry makes it seem a bit more sane. Further digging in the article on the political party and the odd and occasionally disturbing crops up again, though. In type it somewhat reminds me of the entertaining, amused and minor hubub in the international press over the Prime Minister-in-waiting's wife's eccentricities. I liked the comments attributed to the Prime Minister-in-waiting, who came across as entertained, amused, and fond.

Regarding the first blog entry, naturally I also notice inconsistencies in the source article itself. Another organization in need of an editor! Although not as much as some of the publishers in India; reading the back of an English-language book I found in an Indian bookstore was truly cringe-inducing.

For my fellow Japan-livers, an brief article on a guy who took his landlord to court over fees. The renting system in Japan is definitely stilted in favor of the landlord (someone once told me that this is something that developed after WWII when housing was scarce, but I have no sources to back this up), and my feeling is that everyone just goes along with it because they're used to it and that's the way it is, without giving much thought to whether or not it's fair. My landlord is very kind and gives me a very good deal, but I'm strangely lucky in that respect and it's not the same for everyone.

Two weeks largely spent away from the internet have made me somewhat verbose, so if I have the opportunity I will probably ramble further ere long.

In India, and safe. A bit of a sore throat, but I'm fine otherwise . . . if I get sick with anything, it's always a sore throat. Also, Indian mosquitos love me just as much as . . . every other country's mosquitos have.

Anyway, we left Delhi, went to Agra, spent a night in the countryside in a castle, and now we're in Jaipur. This morning we already toured the Amber Fort; later we're going on an orientation walk and then we'll see some Bollywood epic at a theater said to be the most beautiful in Asia.

There's . . . a lot more to say than I have time to say. But it's been amazing so far, and likely will continue to be so. I'm taking a ton of photos, but of course. India is chaotic and fascinating, and all of it inextricably mixed together. I don't even know where to start.

But the Taj Mahal is just as beautiful as it is said to be, if not moreso. I don't think I'll ever see another building as beautiful in my life.

I'm trying not to spend too much time on the computer, so I'll leave it at that. Namaste!

George R.R. Martin is not your bitch, MUAH HA HA.

A random conversation with the Band AU Ryuuki and Shuuei in my head:

Ryuuki: I got a nipple ring!
me: ::groan:: Oh gods you didn-- you did. Dammit. When did you--
Ryuuki: ::airily:: A while ago.
me: There's no way you could have done that on your own.
Ryuuki: That's why I got Shuuei to come with me!
me: You're in on this too?!
Shuuei: He asked me to come along and hold his hand-- what was I going to say, no?
me: I bet you yelled.
Ryuuki: Pretty loud, yeah.
Shuuei: You went white as a ghost when the needle went through, wish I'd had a camera.
Ryuuki: I did not!
Shuuei: You almost broke my right hand. I need this hand.
Ryuuki: You could make do with a pick for the guitar, and you don't do anything else important with it.
::pause::
me: Oh, gods, please tell me that you two haven't--
Shuuei: Well, we were really drunk one night--
Ryuuki: And then since neither of us could remember afterwards, of course we had to try it again, just to see--
me: ::runs away crying::
Ryuuki: Um. Maybe we teased her a bit too much.
Shuuei: Oh, she'll be fine. Just don't expect me to come along when you want a tattoo.
Ryuuki: Ooh! We should all go together and get one! Like a band thing!
Shuuei: You are an indescribable dork sometimes. Convince Kouyuu first before you even try talking to me.

"The following lines from this Hikaru no Go fic made me laugh at my desk. ( Read more... )

This D.Gray-man fic is awesome. Beautiful and painful at the same time. I don't even like Kanda/Allen, but gods I 100% love it here.

Things I am grateful for:

My ridiculously sweet and affectionate cat, who follows me around the house whenever I'm at home, and meows at me for no other reason than he wants my attention. It's been too hot for him to sit on my lap, so he sprawls out on the floor nearby to wherever I am just so that he can be with me.

Remember how I was missing lemonade? Then I went to Outback with my friend, and drank a ridiculous amount of it. And he told me that there was lemonade in vending machines-- a new type of drink released just this summer. So now I hunt it down everywhere I go, and it's wonderful.

Waistcoats are in fashion! Already I have given in and bought one, though I'll have to get it tailored before it will fit me. But. Waistcoats! <3

Worth watching:



I'm off to India!

Fanfic beware! This chapter isn't finished, but I have to put it up for the deadline on saiun_challenge. I know I won't be able to finish it in a mere hour and a half, and I'd be better off with the sleep. So!

Saiunkoku: Demon Hunter

Main Storyline
Chapter One: Departure
Chapter Two: The Long Road

Sidestories
Haunted

( Chapter 3: Learning Experiences (part one: Gold) )

Oh, Japan. Have I told you recently how beautiful you are? Today especially; the sky a perfect blue with white clouds punctuating the horizons, sweeping mountains folded in robes of darker blue-green, the bright sun turning the leaves to emerald, a light breeze to keep the temperature in reasonable limits . . .

From my school I can smell the inscence wafting from the nearby cemetary. This weekend is Obon, when the spirits of the dead return to earth. I took a detour in my walk to the supermarket to go past the cemetary, a place I love. Under the bright sun, the graves sparkled in new-washed splendor. Bright flowers and offerings stood before the stones. Families, laughing, came and went, toting buckets of water and ladles. The view from the hillside over the valley and distant Kyoto city was perfectly clear and lovely.

I noticed a homeless man sleeping on the floor of the partially-abandoned shelter in the graveyard, the serene downturned face of the Buddha floating over him in the dimness.

Strangely, I seem to be getting stared at more than usual today. Perhaps it's just that there are more people around to do the staring. For some reason the majority are always old men, but it's fairly widespread. My general way of dealing is to meet the person's eyes directly and smile-- it's a way to subtly point out that I notice what they're doing, and generally they realize that they're being rude and stop. Being stared at is pretty much to be expected (I sometimes find myself staring at foreigners), and it doesn't make me angry or anything like that, though when I first came I found it intimidating. Over the years I've gotten used to it, but I'm never going to like it.

Some links!

I read articles from Slate fairly regularly, but rarely do they make me laugh. This hypothetical page from Barack Obama's Facebook feed, though, had me going a number of times.

If you're having a bad day . . . GMH.

This woman recently visited North Korea, and wrote a brief article about the experience which I found interesting.

For Saiunkoku peeps, should you move to DreamWidth, you can love Saiunkoku there, too, on this forum. I will be cross-posting all my LiveJournal forum entries up there, as well. As of yet there isn't much there, but since the mods (myself included) actually exist on the internet, it can grow and change and adapt to our needs.

Slate again! How much is a life worth? And, rampant fearmongering on health care! Ye gods. Why is the U.S. so full of vocal morons? Every time I think it might be safe to go back, some sort of hugely stupid drama errupts.

A review of an interesting movie.

Fandomania: a cosplay gallery. Some of them are quite good, some . . . . well. My level of geekiness is such that I immediately noticed certain mistakes, which is possibly kinda sad. That and one of the photos is completely mislabled.

Humans as seeking creatures. Or, why teh interwebs is addictive.

Sometimes one wishes to do the world some small kindness, to give a gift for no reason but the desire to share something beautiful. So to that end, today I have uploaded a song. It's by a group called The Real String Theory, and is titled Breath of Light.



It's . . . incredibly beautiful. Peaceful, faintly sad, exquisitely painful in a way that makes my heart sing. For me it holds a faint sense of nostalgia, a reminder of bittersweet stories from my childhood, the same feeling I felt when I wound my unicorn music box and stood still, listening as the notes slowed and faded to nothing. An echo of something forever out of reach, longed for without ever knowing what it was, something that drifts through to me, from faery lands forlorn . . .

"Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?"

That there should be beauty in sorrow, and sorrow in beauty, is not something that I can explain, but it is something that I have understood since I could understand anything, and treasured deeply.

( Death in the Meadow, by Leslye Layne Russell )

I am better, and I thank you all for your concern. I have recovered, I am back to 100%. My mind is once again clear and able, my tongue no longer stumbles over language, I no longer need to clutch the banister to descend the stairs.

I will go to India at the end of this month, it has been decided. One thing that migraines have taught me is that my life is a fragile thing, a breath away from dissolution. I have no confidence that it will continue on as I've known it in the past. And so I live it at a frantic pace, trying to fit everything in now, because I am never sure if there will be a later. I have a friend who wishes to go to India with me . . . and while I would like to go with her, I can't wait.

I can't wait, because I am never certain that tomorrow will come for me.

But perhaps because of this, I also notice the world around me, and appreciate it in ways that I think people often forget. I watch clouds cross the sky in wonder, awed at the thought that they are water, floating suspended in whisps the size of entire prefectures. I enjoy my food, the contrast in texture between barley and rice, the bitterness of beer and the sweet graininess of black sesame. The scent of Japanese cypress on my bike ride this morning . . . the wind in my face . . . the joy of lacing up my new sneakers with red . . . walking through the hillside graveyard . . . holding a conversation entirely in meows with my cat . . . the feeling of intense well-being when I play a hankyoku piece on my shakuhachi . . . kneeling supple and easy on a tatami floor . . .

And I give compliments, freely and sincerely. If I think you're cool, I will tell you so; if I think you look nice, I will have no reservation about saying it; if you say something witty I will express my admiration; if I love you I will say it and you will laugh nervously because you don't believe me. That's fine, but I have to say it now because for me every time is the last time I'll ever see you.

I wish more than anything that I could communicate these feelings to the world, that I could share joy and discovery and wonder with someone else. But we are not built for it, we humans, we are not made to commune with one another. And this helpless and impossible love will remain, far too big for my life to contain, lonely and speechless and forever flowing over.

Where I Am With You, by Ryan Vine

Waking from a nap,
we stand at the window
watching dark clouds crawl
across the sky, whip
state-sized wisps
down and out and up.

Lights come on early,
and people below
on the street scurry
and bumble about
My arm around you, you say—
Let it rain, let it pour.