December 19, 2007

I saw Suzie again tonight. The hours were minutes. Happiness is in the ability to recognise a singular thing when you have it. I have a singular and beautiful friend. I have many singular and beautiful friends. (Here, I refer to the collective.) We don’t lose time. I am happy — lost in my own way, yes, and sad for certain endings, but grateful to the ends of my toes for all of you.

I feel so scattered this year. As I tried to explain to Suzie, the people I see on a daily basis, the friends I’ve made this year, are mostly at least six years ahead of me in their lives. As much as they are wonderful and I have a firm belief in connections regardless of external factors such as age, there is a part of me that feels a bit lost, like I don’t know how young I still am. I want to remember to be young. On Saturday night I saw a band called Greenbelt Collective perform. I remarked to Jordie, one of the guys I was there with, that as much as their overwhelmingly joyful and hand-clappy music may leave me cold, Greenbelt succeed admirably at staying young. He nodded and said, “Honestly, they all seem younger than you. I forget how young you are sometimes… you’re so mature.” That comment saddened a part of me.

I haven’t written anything but letters since June. I haven’t done art in even longer. Both of these used to be indicators of where I am, and maybe that’s why I feel like a shadow of myself. I don’t even know where I am.

Lazy November 13, 2007

This is going to be the scattered-most post! Consider yourselves warned.

So. I haven’t kept up with the blog lately, even though I always enjoy it. I just prefer to read it in bursts, whilst in a very particular mood. This means that my post will have less than no relevance to any previous post.

I don’t even know how I feel about blogging. Is that meta, blogging about blogging? There are perhaps three blogs in the universe whose existence I appreciate (two of them are about music, and this one is about us), and I feel like I am cluttering up the universe with every character I type. Has anyone acted on my crazed and loud declarations of love for Jorge Luis Borges? Has anyone read his short story “Library of Babel”? Anyone? Does anyone here love me? If you have, you understand perhaps my dizziness when I consider the junk I’m currently adding to the canon of human existence (as distinct from any literary canon).

Here is a Borges quote (as documented by Alberto Manguel): “The number of themes, of words, of texts, is limited. Therefore nothing is ever lost. If a book is lost, then someone will write it again, eventually. That should be enough for anyone.”

I just thought of a way to be more obscure and tedious! I will start a DREAM DIARY here!

xoxo, and “TTFN” (as the kids say)