Gospodinov, Georgi, and Zornitsa Hristova. Natural Novel. Normal, IL: Dalkey Archive, 2005.
Finished: 2015-04-17
Gospodinov, Georgi, and Zornitsa Hristova. Natural Novel. Normal, IL: Dalkey Archive, 2005.
Finished: 2015-04-17
Krasznahorkai, László, and George Szirtes. War and War. New York: New Directions, 2006.
Finished: 2015-04-16
Murthy, U. R., and A. K. Ramanujan. Samskara: A Rite for a Dead Man. Pbk. ed. New York: Oxford UP, 1989.
Finished: 2015-04-12
Parnashavari, the Forest Goddess with three faces and six hands, wears a skirt and a garland of thatched green leaves.
I tried the mental exercise of projecting the dismissive contempt I have for sports onto the things that I value (literature, music, philosophy, visual arts). I imagined strongly believing them to be pointless preoccupations riddled with unsavory ideologies of power and consumption. The process shed helpful light on the variations of personal passions as well as their underlying lack of specialness and ultimately helped me reframe the notion of “being interested in something.”
Trungpa, Chögyam. The Path of Individual Liberation: The Profound Treasury of the Ocean of Dharma, Volume One. Boston: Shambhala, 2013.
Finished: 2015-03-29
Federman, Raymond. Double or Nothing: a Real Fictitious Discourse. 3rd ed. Boulder: Fiction Collective Two, 1998.
Finished: 2015-03-28
First day of spring, beginning a whole year of spring!
Everyone outdoors talking.
Rose to narcissus:
“Have you seen that ugly raven’s face?”
“No, he has no interest in us.”
“That’s good news!”
Pomegranate asks the apple tree for a peach.
“All you loafers down at that end of the orchard, you’re
always wanting peaches.”
“You’ve got to have a soul like Jesus
to be handed a peach!”
Inside this ordinary banter come messages from the source,
from absolute absence.
The plants stretch new wings in the sun.
Cloud and fog burn off. “Bless your heart.”
“That’s enough.”
Sun moves into Aries, permanently!
“Come see me.”
“I will.”
“I’d like that. But I can’t leave this.”
Ground soaked, sky full of candles.
Visions of fire and water alternating.
Drag your feet off the boat.
Look at him standing there.
I used to have mountain ranges inside my chest.
Now it’s smooth plain.
Grief lives between the cat paws.
You can say eek-eek or gehk-gohk,
but there’s no way to escape.
Throw this cloth-making equipment into the fire,
the alphabet spindle that’s stuck in your throat,
the cleft stick of your neck wrapped with thread.
-Rumi