It's been over four years since I last posted here and since I used Blogger. I woke up today remembering it and realized that things got dark in my life sometime after this. Rereading the entries from the past, there are a few recurring themes that still recur today, which is interesting to learn more about myself - looking at myself from outside.
I decided to keep this blog and add to it rather than start anew. The new blog would have been called "Finisterre" after the Saint Etienne lyric "Finisterre, to tear it down and start again". I'm still happy with "The Interstice" as a theme, the s p a c e between myself and other people.
I stopped blogging around the time I joined facebook, I guess I assumed FB would be more like this - people's thoughts, ideas, etc. a semi-public journal. It's not. Oh, I've disabled the "comments" feature here this time around.
More soon. I promise.
13.1.13
14.9.08
cheers and toast.
M. and I flew to Adelaide this weekend. T. and K. t'd the k. (tied the knot -- where does that saying come from? will google it later and get instant-gratification answer that is the hallmark of this 'information age'). From the airplane, the ocean waves move in a different way than I always imagined - and so different than the endless barrage of water you experience on the beach itself. From the air, the waves stroke or pet the shore.
The wedding was held in the Barossa valley, known for its vinyards. A place where time (as a grape-growing season) is bottled and rated. Wines are priced on quality, availability, distance travelled, reputation. It's wonderful how in wine we have a metaphor for valuing particular eras - how good was your year?
At the reception, we cheers and toast with wine making us soppy and loosen our emotional tongues. "here's to you, table 14" we toasted our wedding reception neighbours. (what's the history of clinking glasses?- must google that too.) We wash down our toast with a mouthful of wine.
Of course it's the earliest bit of spring in the Barossa Valley, so the grapevines are still bare. Like the proverbial 'blank slate'. Like pure optimism for the future, and perfect for a wedding day.
The wedding was held in the Barossa valley, known for its vinyards. A place where time (as a grape-growing season) is bottled and rated. Wines are priced on quality, availability, distance travelled, reputation. It's wonderful how in wine we have a metaphor for valuing particular eras - how good was your year?
At the reception, we cheers and toast with wine making us soppy and loosen our emotional tongues. "here's to you, table 14" we toasted our wedding reception neighbours. (what's the history of clinking glasses?- must google that too.) We wash down our toast with a mouthful of wine.
Of course it's the earliest bit of spring in the Barossa Valley, so the grapevines are still bare. Like the proverbial 'blank slate'. Like pure optimism for the future, and perfect for a wedding day.
3.4.08
fire works for you.
today i sat in the doctor's office, flipping through magazines. strangely i never get the chance to read mags despite working with them all day. i chose a national geographic that featured hubble telescope photos. amazing photos they are, though somewhat remniscent of cocteau twins' album covers. if the hubble photos have been faked, they would have been designed by 23 envelope.
hey, here's a pic left over from new years...
hey, here's a pic left over from new years...
18.3.08
A Long Time.
A quick catch-up post, so I can write something real again sometime later...
The US came and went, and Chinese New Year passed there without much notice... at least where I was. I noted a slip of paper on my mother's table that began "Chinese New Year Resolutions" and preceded a list, which I kept from reading... privacy respector, me. I don't think all new year celebrations lend the same weight to resolving... but inspired, I chose Leap Day as a sort of second-chance new year.
Leap resolutions are more important that those of January first. Mainly because you're commiting to four years instead of one. Mine include: reading more, running more, internetting less, as well as a few other promises that will remain private.
More soon....
The US came and went, and Chinese New Year passed there without much notice... at least where I was. I noted a slip of paper on my mother's table that began "Chinese New Year Resolutions" and preceded a list, which I kept from reading... privacy respector, me. I don't think all new year celebrations lend the same weight to resolving... but inspired, I chose Leap Day as a sort of second-chance new year.
Leap resolutions are more important that those of January first. Mainly because you're commiting to four years instead of one. Mine include: reading more, running more, internetting less, as well as a few other promises that will remain private.
More soon....
14.2.08
Air.Mail (transcribed from notebook)
I am composing this letter on an aeroplane having just taken off from Chicago. With me I have this notebook and a Graham Greene novel ("The Heart of The Matter"). His novels are so addictive despite all I've read having the same basic plot points - During wartime, a writer/artist/poet travels abroad and falls in love with a married woman whose inattentive/dispassionate husband works as a polititian, businessman, policeman, etc. The husband befriends his wife's lover. One character usually dies. See also: "The End of the Affair" and "The Third Man".
Although they could touch each other it was as if the whole coastline of a continent was already between them; their words were like the stilted sentences of a bad letter-writer - pg. 89.
He thought sadly, as lust won the day, what a lot of trouble it was; the sadness of the after-taste fell upon his spirits beforehand - pg. 159.
Greene is at his best attempting to capture the wide ravine that exists between people in the closest relationships, the lengths we go to in order to pursue a connection, and our ultimate inability to establish and maintain true communion.
Themes of The Heart of the Matter: success/failure, love vs loyalty vs lust, the role of guilt in grief, and integrity vs self-sacrifice.
Although they could touch each other it was as if the whole coastline of a continent was already between them; their words were like the stilted sentences of a bad letter-writer - pg. 89.
He thought sadly, as lust won the day, what a lot of trouble it was; the sadness of the after-taste fell upon his spirits beforehand - pg. 159.
Greene is at his best attempting to capture the wide ravine that exists between people in the closest relationships, the lengths we go to in order to pursue a connection, and our ultimate inability to establish and maintain true communion.
Themes of The Heart of the Matter: success/failure, love vs loyalty vs lust, the role of guilt in grief, and integrity vs self-sacrifice.
19.1.08
Confidential to S.A.F.
S. -
You ask how I think of the old days, old places... how I deal with leaving things behind.
It used to be a hard-and-fast rule of mine not to be nostaligic and never to move backward. I thought the only way to lead a full life was to embrace newness and challenge yourself by making the choices that don't seem easy or most-pleasing. But these rules are becoming compromised in my mind -- becoming soft-and-slow. Anyone who has ever reached a dead-end in a maze could tell you that it is sometimes necessary to backtrack a bit before setting off on a new route.
Like you, I also never planned these "semi-permanent leavings" which are, for me, becoming more and more permanent each moment. M. was always meant to move to USA with me. We would be citizens of multiple lands, living around the globe (I just mis-typed 'globe' as 'blog' before correcting it -- was does that mean?!).
I sometimes imagine a Native American who boards a ship heading 'back' to Europe shortly after America was 'discovered'. Discovery goes both ways. "Where are you from?" the Europeans would have asked him in the 1500s. "Oh, I'm American" he would respond nonchalantly in Sioux or Appache, bored with the 'new world' and eager to explore the 'old country'.
And so I'm settled here. A new nationality as a new identity. I'm like someone with an impossible shade of blonde hair - everyone can tell that I'm not a natural.
What do I miss? I am strangely comforted that the places and people I remember aren't there anymore. They're either moved or changed. Most other things that I miss are so superficial. You can find rootbeer here if you look hard enough. So what does that leave? I miss squirrels and I miss winter. I miss sitting in a coffeeshop all afternoon reading and steeling up courage to venture back into the blizzard. Now if I were to leave here I would miss Eucalyptus trees, magpies and wee garden lizards. I would even miss the ridiculousness of barefoot women and topless men in grocery stores and restaurants. No shoes, no shirts - no worries, mate.
The multinational, the leaver, the adventurer -- we're as bad as junkies. They should warn travellers going abroad. Once we've experienced the differences we can never forget that there is always a valid alternative - one that pulls us. But a Eucalypt and a garden lizard cannot survive a midwest winter. And without a natural predator, squirrels would take over this country. The two places are largely incompatible.
I feel that I'm not really answering your question, which seems to be more about leaving the past. The only real consolation I can offer is this mantra: The past just isn't there anymore.
All my love, J.
You ask how I think of the old days, old places... how I deal with leaving things behind.
It used to be a hard-and-fast rule of mine not to be nostaligic and never to move backward. I thought the only way to lead a full life was to embrace newness and challenge yourself by making the choices that don't seem easy or most-pleasing. But these rules are becoming compromised in my mind -- becoming soft-and-slow. Anyone who has ever reached a dead-end in a maze could tell you that it is sometimes necessary to backtrack a bit before setting off on a new route.
Like you, I also never planned these "semi-permanent leavings" which are, for me, becoming more and more permanent each moment. M. was always meant to move to USA with me. We would be citizens of multiple lands, living around the globe (I just mis-typed 'globe' as 'blog' before correcting it -- was does that mean?!).
I sometimes imagine a Native American who boards a ship heading 'back' to Europe shortly after America was 'discovered'. Discovery goes both ways. "Where are you from?" the Europeans would have asked him in the 1500s. "Oh, I'm American" he would respond nonchalantly in Sioux or Appache, bored with the 'new world' and eager to explore the 'old country'.
And so I'm settled here. A new nationality as a new identity. I'm like someone with an impossible shade of blonde hair - everyone can tell that I'm not a natural.
What do I miss? I am strangely comforted that the places and people I remember aren't there anymore. They're either moved or changed. Most other things that I miss are so superficial. You can find rootbeer here if you look hard enough. So what does that leave? I miss squirrels and I miss winter. I miss sitting in a coffeeshop all afternoon reading and steeling up courage to venture back into the blizzard. Now if I were to leave here I would miss Eucalyptus trees, magpies and wee garden lizards. I would even miss the ridiculousness of barefoot women and topless men in grocery stores and restaurants. No shoes, no shirts - no worries, mate.
The multinational, the leaver, the adventurer -- we're as bad as junkies. They should warn travellers going abroad. Once we've experienced the differences we can never forget that there is always a valid alternative - one that pulls us. But a Eucalypt and a garden lizard cannot survive a midwest winter. And without a natural predator, squirrels would take over this country. The two places are largely incompatible.
I feel that I'm not really answering your question, which seems to be more about leaving the past. The only real consolation I can offer is this mantra: The past just isn't there anymore.
All my love, J.
3.11.07
no.stal.gia
Earlier this week, a very Italian customer with the name of Evangelini (bearers of good news) asked me "do you nostalgia your home?" His strange use of 'nostalgia' as a verb sparked a questioning of just what I feel about the past - do i miss it? do i cherish it? am i glad its over?
Maybe it's the shifting season and daylight savings, but I am feeling nostalgic. Missing eras, people, places, and things that have somehow resigned themselves to the past. Today I had a strong craving for hashbrowns and the American diner experience.
Jane and I were talking about childhood Christmas decorations and the 'concertina snowflakes' as we dubbed them --- is there a word for them? The store-bought ones that start flat and open out into 3d tissue-paper creations - usually snowflakes or wedding bells... they seem so hard to find these days.
"concertina snowflake".... that's a pretty drag name. I nostalgia concertina snowflakes and American hashbrowns.
Maybe it's the shifting season and daylight savings, but I am feeling nostalgic. Missing eras, people, places, and things that have somehow resigned themselves to the past. Today I had a strong craving for hashbrowns and the American diner experience.
Jane and I were talking about childhood Christmas decorations and the 'concertina snowflakes' as we dubbed them --- is there a word for them? The store-bought ones that start flat and open out into 3d tissue-paper creations - usually snowflakes or wedding bells... they seem so hard to find these days.
"concertina snowflake".... that's a pretty drag name. I nostalgia concertina snowflakes and American hashbrowns.
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