humming

i've raided the public library and wake from sleep as from a deep stupor. once my dream had a soundtrack, which was weird because that never happens. you'd think, of course! she musicks all the time, but. it was in florida, reinecke's ondine, romantic and turbulent.

i've been remiss, needlessly. sometimes i have the attention of a fruit fly. the headache from 10 hours in the tampa airport remains. james paced in circles, my dad slipped in and out, groaning at my requests for help with puzzles, i stretched yogically, practically still for a few hours at a time, thinking, trying to stay awake.

i remember once i was walking home from school, 14 maybe, spring-ish, i was lost in my own as usual, singing something to myself, and someone passed me and said "nice voice" and i snapped out of it, quickly. people are listening even when they're not.

another time, i slipped and fell backwards on the ice. my backpack weighed maybe 50 pounds.

i need to go back to paris.


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Now playing: Nellie McKay - Manhattan Avenue
via FoxyTunes

edge

it's a process- clearing out the clutter, holding onto what sticks, not going blind in the process. on the docket: tolstoy's karenina, pinsky's the figured wheel (am i in a place than can again fathom prose poetry?), and perhaps a dose or two of faulkner.

i crave the quad-ruled, bound pages of the french, the rambling ways of atwood's narratives and foer's plots, the gentle arpeggios of segovia in concert, a clear path in the carpet for a yoga mat.

i want sara bareilles's album little voice for days that are unbearably, unforgivably hot (and it's only early june...), lavender-mint candles for my soul, and a cool breeze on warm skin. no simultaneity necessary.

soon to be: road trip (ish) out to see micah and some nyc-ish kids, in no uncertain order alex conway, tito, justin wolf, nora krohn, and dave vasold, if he can ever come up for air from rebecca's.

here's to friends: alison melville; alex conway; and the incandescent scribbles of sean.

letters

i speak of cold purpose because the words don't flow like water from my pen anymore.

home is a familiar fog, blurry and bittersweet. people are growing up all over the place, nathan to penn for law school, jane to med school in baltimore, hannah deferring to both of her top choice colleges and trying for a job at tomato palace. i somehow thought (in vain) when i went away that everything would crystallize.

seeing kevin was brilliant; reminded me of my roots and who i was once. he's grown his hair without abandon...and i've chopped mine and now it stands untethered.

i heart a few things these days -- simply orange juice, pomegranate dark chocolate chip haagen dazs ice cream, avocados and fuji apples in salads.

tonight: indian food chez moi followed by the new indiana jones movie in the theaters. attended by my parents and richard the blankman.

Pablo Picasso
Guitar, Sheet Music, and Wine Glass
1912
McNay Art Museum, San Antonio

audrey's gone

and michelle's basically moved out of our casa.

this week:

• today...café mozart with the lovely lisa cohen, clio's viola recital at juilliard, afterparty in the bronx
• tuesday...dinner for derin and cesare (ratatouille! among other things.)
• wednesday...guggenheim with kevin lubrano (!) then dinosaur bbq in harlem with some purchase kids
• thursday...packin'
• friday...lunch at jean-louis, possible shift at rebecca's
• saturday...cookin for some waitstaff (black beans and rice, homemade guac, sangria?)
• sunday....skippin town.

and that, my friends, is how we go out in style.

Cai Guo-Qiang, "Inopportune: Stage One" (2004)

soon to be

back home in the not-quite-paradise of columbia, md.

today:

• ride to nyc on the big yellow buses (tyler wore my hat to keep warm)
• concert with pso at symphony space under maestra tania león
• quick trip to the store where i not quite raided the produce section for bananas, blackberries, blueberries, yellow and green bell peppers, italian eggplant, onion, and salad greens
• dinner of pasta with eggplant, tomatoes, green/yellow pepper, onion and copious amounts of garlic plus some grilled chicken i had in the fridge, plenty of fresh ground pepper and dried rosemary + a salad of mixed greens, blueberries, scallions and dry toasted pine nuts with a white balsamic/dijon mustard vinaigrette (could have been better with warm goat cheese à la bar harbor, maine) while watching a rerun of "reaper"

tomorrow, last shift at the library...*sniff* and lunch parties with fellow circs and tutors. last meeting with carol bankerd (it's been an intriguing semester) and an evening of bassoon music.

i am reluctant to box my stuff up because that would mean that i have to start looking for places to live again. can't i just keep the kitchen and my bed forever? the set up is pretty sweet.

thoughts on projects to come: working for cirque du soleil seems amazing...but what do they look for, exactly? who is ideal? i feel conventional.

i need something to work towards.

when i was in paris, at first, when i felt like a fish out of water (different pond to be sure), i would read tintin comics every day. they had all the old ones in the bedroom. just picture me, in my little lofted bed, reading aloud old french slang.

taken at the hergé centennial exhibition in paris last year. meredith, dina, bevin and i were there!

crossin'

we are all but curious children. it is interesting to consider what compels us to greet the new day, smile into the mirror, join the pulse.

i dream of toy boats in the jardin de luxembourg - lazy afternoons on kathmandu out of art's dock on the magothy, sun on my neck - baguette sandwiches by the fountain in front of the sorbonne - paris bridges in steady rain - hands in my hair - slaps of sensual "juli-o" - knowing other people's happiness.

upcoming:

• flute/tuba/dancers project inside/outside performance clothes/street with susan wheatley, cara heerdt and friend.
• orchestra concert with maestra tania león at symphony space, nyc, may 11
  
• flute trio in crystal zagarello's recital, may 16
  

Paul Signac, Plane Trees, Place des Lices, Saint-Tropez, Opus 242, 1893

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Now playing: Damien Rice - Volcano
via FoxyTunes

what

what i want is affirmation (or is it confirmation?). i need to know that it's not all for naught, that huge bangles aren't just for show, and that somehow, someday he will love me.

cooper-hewitt's rococo exhibit was sumptuously decadent; the only thing missing was music. why not a stately soundtrack of pieces written under louis XV to give an aural sense of the court? the met was, well, met-ish, grand, wide and open. le grand vestibule qui fonctionne comme un dégagement entre l'entrée et la nouvelle annexe grecque-romande me rappelle du louvre, quand j'étais là avec mes amis pour voir des choses cet après-midi en janvier (ou février?). le plafond est assez haut pour permettre l'entrée du soleil - dans l'évolution du jour, l'angle et la force du soleil changent et éclairent des sculptures différentes. au new museum dans le bowery, c'était assez surprenant que il n'y avait pas de plan ou progression spécifique, comme le moma (c'est pas le même idée, mais quand même...) ou autres musées modernes à washington que je fréquente quand je suis chez moi. ça, c'est pas bien pour le succès du musée pour leur publique parce que il n'y a pas une cohérence claire et alors il y a une tendance pour les gens de se balader partout sans but.

collaborating on projects involves constant discovery, about what things can happen simultaneously (or un-), effects that are extramusically gorgeous and interesting............. very, very cool. this inside/outside thing with cara and susan is bound to be thought-provoking. it's just a matter of buckling down and writing.

do we really feel our ages, or do we just keep living, surviving as before?