Category Archives: From the Archives

Revisited Reflections: Paris 2013

This was a year ago. Some thoughts are due now, I suppose. 

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July 28, 2013

Due to certain trivialities that my weaknesses fall prey to, I sometimes forget how wonderful being alive could really be. The little details we often fail to pay attention to are usually what truly matter: the water that sparkles as it emerges and then splashes back upon itself creating ripples of wave and sound, the ink slithering from the pen onto the page, the statue smiling from a building’s elaborate stonework reflected on the stained glass of one of the world’s most famous landmarks — and then the self, in its most realized element, pen and paper in hand under a bright Parisian sky. I am not saying anything new here. Only pointing out that there are things we ought to really notice sometimes. Then everything else that don’t matter will cease to clutter the big picture.

 

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Overtaken, Underrun

Self-proclaimed casualties on a street

with no signs, one way

or another: the other can’t

go on, the other gets left behind.

 

 

**not filed under 365 for 2012 because this one is from the year past:

December 30, 2011 while making my way up North

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Triggering the Rain

In the middle of a hot afternoon at the end of April, I am taking down notes about telling stories. The people inside the room begin to lose themselves in details of objects that hold the secrets of the character in the story. The story is about leaving.

The atmosphere around me changes. I begin to lose myself in a memory. 

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I remember the rain. Drops fall from the gray sky and shatter themselves on the hotel window. Shards of water pass in front me and get lost in the puddles below. I press my palm against the glass. I feel the city shudder. I pull the blanket tighter around me. The cloth is soft against my skin but offers little warmth. I trace a line from my lips to my neck, and lower, to where his kisses lead and end. My fingers feel like ice. I shiver and the city shivers with me.

Inside the room, music plays faintly. The soft melody is drowned out by the patter of rain running after each other on the surface of the city. There are all these sounds and yet it is as if he breathes into my ear. The air in the room is still. Cold. Below, people hidden beneath their umbrellas rush through the streets. They do not look up. They keep on running, running away from or running to something. They all have to be somewhere else other than where they already are.

I feel him asleep on the bed behind me, in a room I do not own. I look out the window at a view I will never see again. I turn around and look at the man sleeping on the bed. The sun rises in the rain. I turn around and continue to stare out the window, waiting for when the rain will end.

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Yeah. So I did get lost. But that’s just that. I’m back taking down notes from the workshop now. 

Maybe waiting for when the rain will come again.

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