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carmel, california. september 2013.

carmel, california. september 2013.

I’ve been reading a lot of Pablo Neruda lately. I think I’m looking for inspiration for my wedding vows. However, my most favorite poem by him is his saddest.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,’The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

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01 october 2013.

01 october 2013.

I could happily swim in the thousands of quotes about New York City by one of my favorite writers Joan Didion, but it’s hard to swim in words… unless it’s alphabet soup, of course.

“You see I was in a curious position in New York: it never occurred to me that I was living a real life there.”

“Quite simply, I was in love with New York. I do not mean “love” in any colloquial way, I mean that I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again.”

nyc. january 2012.

Because there’s nothing more beautiful or terrifying than the personal revelation that you are deeply human and irrevocably flawed:

Of course all life is a process of breaking down, but the blows that do the dramatic side of the work — the big sudden blows that come, or seem to come, from outside — the ones you remember and blame things on and, in moments of weakness, tell your friends about, don’t show their effect all at once. There is another sort of blow that comes from within — that you don’t feel until it’s too late to do anything about it, until you realize with finality that in some regard you will never be as good a man again. The first sort of breakage seems to happen quick — the second kind happens almost without your knowing it but is realized suddenly indeed.

Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general observation — the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. This philosophy fitted on to my early adult life, when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the “impossible,” come true. Life was something you dominated if you were any good. Life yielded easily to intelligence and effort, or to what proportion could be mustered of both. It seemed a romantic business to be a successful literary man — you were not ever going to be as famous as a movie star but what note you had was probably longer-lived; you were never going to have the power of a man of strong political or religious convictions but you were certainly more independent. Of course within the practice of your trade you were forever unsatisfied — but I, for one, would not have chosen any other.

new york city. august 2012.

I came across this John Waters quote in the city the other day. I love it. I also love this other quote by him below… they’re both far too perfect. My opinion of him, which was just “meh” before, has since changed.

“If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them.”

Words to live by, indeed.

the algonquin hotel. an old haunt for writers who knew they were better than the rest… we go there to pretend. new york city. june 2012.

The best part about loving New York City with everything I have, is the feeling, the anxiety and the racing pulse that comes with returning to it. It doesn’t make any sense to one who has never loved a place more than they love themselves, but it’s the truth.

But preparing to come back to New York City never ceases to be reminiscent to preparing to meet up with a love who knows you more than you’re willing to admit: there is nausea, anticipation that can’t be defined by meer words, butterflies and a weakness in the knees.

I love you, my darling, with more than I am and more than I can ever offer. But I think Augusten Boroughs said it best:

If you visit the country and find you cannot sleep because the silence you have heard so much about is actually just a shifting of all auditory awareness to the circulatory system in your head area, and in the morning when you are fatigued and raw, you realize that yes, you would trade the life of your sibling for a ten-minute fix of midtown traffic, you are a New Yorker.

somewhere over middle america. 07 july 2012.

I was too young to really understand what ee cummings meant with all his perfectly placed lower case letters. I just knew that they looked lovely on the page and the construction of each line reminded me of a black and white photograph.

This is the first poem of cummings’ that I fell in love with and memorized:

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

my favorite reason for every time I hop a plane out of town. may 2009.

“You especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously… but when you get the damned hurt, use it… don’t cheat with it.” – Hemingway

Somebody said you got a new friend
Does she love you better than I can?
There’s a big black sky over my town
I know where you’re at, I bet she’s aroundYeah, I know it’s stupid
I just gotta see it for myselfI’m in the corner, watching you kiss her, ohh
I’m right over here, why can’t you see me, ohh
I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home, ooo
I keep dancing on my own
I keep dancing on my ownI’m just gonna dance all night
I’m all messed up, I’m so out of line
Stilettos and broken bottles
I’m spinning around in circlesI’m in the corner, watching you kiss her, ohh
I’m right over here, why can’t you see me, ohh
I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home, ooo
I keep dancing on my own
I keep dancing on my ownSo far away but still so near
The lights go on, the music dies
But you don’t see me standing here
I just came to say goodbyeI’m in the corner, watching you kiss her, ohh
I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home, ooo
I keep dancing on my own
I keep dancing on my ownI’m in the corner, watching you kiss her, ohh
I’m right over here, why can’t you see me, ohh
I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home, ooo
I keep dancing on my own
I keep dancing on my own

I keep dancing on my own