let's live suddenly without thinking
e e cummings
Monday, September 30, 2013
matters
"I think people misunderstand, sometimes, the difference between “empathy” and “sympathy”, and this is getting us in trouble. Sympathy is closer to pity. Empathy, which is essential for being human, means that you can imagine yourself in some else’s situation, good or bad. And feeling *real* empathy, even empathy with “the enemy”, with the bottom of the barrel of humanity, with the suicide bombers, with the child molesters, with the Hitlers and the Osamas, is necessary. If you, as a human being, can’t stop and try to imagine what sort of pain and agony and darkness must have descended upon these people to twist them up so badly, you have no roadmap to untwist the circumstances under which they were created. There can be no limit to empathy. If you can’t go the final mile, you’re not there yet."
-Amanda Palmer
Sunday, September 29, 2013
right
this week was a strange mesh of old and new discomforts
a familiar fall heaviness
old and new growth
hurts in unexpected places from unexpected sources
but at the end of it
on a sunday night,
i have a fancy cat by my feet
& m&ms in the freezer
so it can't be all that bad, right?
(right.)
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
any other
listen,
colors up the back of sheep-
we all know who's the belle of the ball
i was thinking of you in england
i was barely there at all
staring out the window at hours of green
a pastoral haze of physical ache
for an absent limb.
phantom.
willed forgetting.
back in america and i find myself elsewhere, still
in some past. some depth. some nowhere.
the way we speak to each other
and are spoken to
i started listening
and all my words changed
an excess of darkness before some fall back
and i meant to write to you months ago.
sometimes it's hard to contain these screams
in little boxes
the windows are open
and everyone hears
they used to sit together and coo
like birds-
there is no natural state
this is all just the firing of synapses
subconscious lunges at those magic hormones
that tell us we are happy
chase that connection
call it out
by any other name
(the slight sagging around the earlobes.
before you can detect it in the voice, there's the sagging near the ears) That was all just necessary. Some release. Some getting out. Fall and the general, consistent desire to weep. Some nature. Some nurture. Some true thing in the mud.
That was all just necessary.
Some release.
Some getting out.
Fall and the general, consistent desire to weep.
We hear so little & understand even less.
Some nature. Some nurture.
Some true thing in the mud.
colors up the back of sheep-
we all know who's the belle of the ball
i was thinking of you in england
i was barely there at all
staring out the window at hours of green
a pastoral haze of physical ache
for an absent limb.
phantom.
willed forgetting.
back in america and i find myself elsewhere, still
in some past. some depth. some nowhere.
the way we speak to each other
and are spoken to
i started listening
and all my words changed
an excess of darkness before some fall back
and i meant to write to you months ago.
sometimes it's hard to contain these screams
in little boxes
the windows are open
and everyone hears
they used to sit together and coo
like birds-
there is no natural state
this is all just the firing of synapses
subconscious lunges at those magic hormones
that tell us we are happy
chase that connection
call it out
by any other name
(the slight sagging around the earlobes.
before you can detect it in the voice, there's the sagging near the ears) That was all just necessary. Some release. Some getting out. Fall and the general, consistent desire to weep. Some nature. Some nurture. Some true thing in the mud.
That was all just necessary.
Some release.
Some getting out.
Fall and the general, consistent desire to weep.
We hear so little & understand even less.
Some nature. Some nurture.
Some true thing in the mud.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
anomalies
after years of remaining completely off my radar, the song "Head Over Feet" by alanis morrisette made its way into my consciousness today. i found myself humming, at first, and then singing it loudly (and with uncanny resemblance AM herself) on my drive home. even when i had finished, one line stayed with me.
"you asked how my day was."
and then,
to emphasize the profundity, a repeated,
"you asked how my day was."
it's as though the idea that a person who asked with genuine interest about her day was such an anomaly in her life that she had no choice but to fall head over feet in love with this virtuoso in human connection.
at first i found the whole thing pathetic. who are you, desperate 90's woman, who is so lonely in your angsty broken world that basic gestures of kind human interaction constitute reason to become utterly smitten? do you think you deserve so little? are you that dumbfounded that someone cares about your day that you had to repeat the words to yourself to be sure? in ways, the whole song screams of desperation and self loathing. the song's subject can do no wrong- they are the best listener she's ever met, they bring health and companionship and warm fuzzies to her life. not to mention, they have manners.
She, on the other hand, will be the first to tell you how undeserving she is of anything so good. she's a self-proclaimed mess who has never been treated well and has no qualms about sharing openly that she's not really sure she deserves said treatment.
HE HELD THE DOOR, FOR GODSAKE. HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR DAY. THAT DOES NOT MAKE HIM JESUS CHRIST COME BACK. YOU CAN GET SUCH TREATMENT FROM THE DOORMAN AT WALMART.
so, there's that.
but you know, the more i thought about it... i kind of get it. i can count on one hand the number of people in my life who express genuine interest in hearing how i'm doing without looking for the first breath to interject with their own lives or updates. even with some of the people i value the most, i can tell it is a supreme STRUGGLE to give me (or anyone) any decent amount of undivided attention without steering the focus back to themselves. and don't be misled, i have AMAZING people in my life. INCREDIBLE people. good, quality human beings.
i'm sure i dominate conversation or am self focused at times, too. but i think more often i'm at the other end of it. the pathetic alanis morrisette end. the end where you walk away from a conversation and realize that you didn't really share anything about yourself at all, and that the other person didn't seem to care too much. over time, you start to curtail your sharing to bare basics... as though if you exceed a certain word count, the opposite party will have no choice but to lose interest. you find yourself apologizing for rattling on if you find that you've been talking about yourself for more than a few minutes. and that's just pathetic. that's Giving Tree pathetic status.
these are sort of new thoughts. not sure what to do with them. just noticing that the world seems to be full of sharers and listeners... and i don't think that one role is necessarily better than another. i'm drawn to people who know how to walk the balance between... who feel that what they have to share has worth and also has genuine interest in listening and learning from the sharing of others.
the rarity of those types of people is a tough pill to swallow.
jagged, even.
too much?
"you asked how my day was."
and then,
to emphasize the profundity, a repeated,
"you asked how my day was."
it's as though the idea that a person who asked with genuine interest about her day was such an anomaly in her life that she had no choice but to fall head over feet in love with this virtuoso in human connection.
at first i found the whole thing pathetic. who are you, desperate 90's woman, who is so lonely in your angsty broken world that basic gestures of kind human interaction constitute reason to become utterly smitten? do you think you deserve so little? are you that dumbfounded that someone cares about your day that you had to repeat the words to yourself to be sure? in ways, the whole song screams of desperation and self loathing. the song's subject can do no wrong- they are the best listener she's ever met, they bring health and companionship and warm fuzzies to her life. not to mention, they have manners.
She, on the other hand, will be the first to tell you how undeserving she is of anything so good. she's a self-proclaimed mess who has never been treated well and has no qualms about sharing openly that she's not really sure she deserves said treatment.
HE HELD THE DOOR, FOR GODSAKE. HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR DAY. THAT DOES NOT MAKE HIM JESUS CHRIST COME BACK. YOU CAN GET SUCH TREATMENT FROM THE DOORMAN AT WALMART.
so, there's that.
but you know, the more i thought about it... i kind of get it. i can count on one hand the number of people in my life who express genuine interest in hearing how i'm doing without looking for the first breath to interject with their own lives or updates. even with some of the people i value the most, i can tell it is a supreme STRUGGLE to give me (or anyone) any decent amount of undivided attention without steering the focus back to themselves. and don't be misled, i have AMAZING people in my life. INCREDIBLE people. good, quality human beings.
i'm sure i dominate conversation or am self focused at times, too. but i think more often i'm at the other end of it. the pathetic alanis morrisette end. the end where you walk away from a conversation and realize that you didn't really share anything about yourself at all, and that the other person didn't seem to care too much. over time, you start to curtail your sharing to bare basics... as though if you exceed a certain word count, the opposite party will have no choice but to lose interest. you find yourself apologizing for rattling on if you find that you've been talking about yourself for more than a few minutes. and that's just pathetic. that's Giving Tree pathetic status.
these are sort of new thoughts. not sure what to do with them. just noticing that the world seems to be full of sharers and listeners... and i don't think that one role is necessarily better than another. i'm drawn to people who know how to walk the balance between... who feel that what they have to share has worth and also has genuine interest in listening and learning from the sharing of others.
the rarity of those types of people is a tough pill to swallow.
jagged, even.
too much?
(never forget)
Thursday, September 12, 2013
some
miserable people are miserable.
they eat little meals of misery
and they talk misery blah blah blah
and in between meals they
have little snacks of misery
and if you sit too near them,
the crunch will drive you nuts.
they eat little meals of misery
and they talk misery blah blah blah
and in between meals they
have little snacks of misery
and if you sit too near them,
the crunch will drive you nuts.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
all
the morning announcements contained this long reflection about 9/11 and how Jesus was there every step of the way. It was about how Jesus was there with the man on the 86th floor calling his wife to say he won't make it... and how he's also there with the wife at home with the kids yaddy yaddy. It kept repeating "I was there," and the reflection included the statement, "You may not know why, but I do."
A familiar rant:
WTF IS THAT? HOW IS "GOD'S PRESENCE" DURING A TRAGEDY LIKE THAT SUPPOSED TO BRING COMFORT? HE WAS THERE? WHY DIDN'T HE DO SOMETHING? HE KNOWS WHY? WHY DOES YOU KEEP IT FROM PEOPLE WHO COULD REALLY EXPERIENCE HEALING AND CLOSURE?"
there is no goddamn why. cruel to suggest.
I don't know how on earth people find comfort in such evident bullshit.
all bullshit.
all.
A familiar rant:
WTF IS THAT? HOW IS "GOD'S PRESENCE" DURING A TRAGEDY LIKE THAT SUPPOSED TO BRING COMFORT? HE WAS THERE? WHY DIDN'T HE DO SOMETHING? HE KNOWS WHY? WHY DOES YOU KEEP IT FROM PEOPLE WHO COULD REALLY EXPERIENCE HEALING AND CLOSURE?"
there is no goddamn why. cruel to suggest.
I don't know how on earth people find comfort in such evident bullshit.
all bullshit.
all.
poignant
back to school night reminds me of why i love teaching every year. what i do matters.
remind me in february- i love teaching and i'm damn good at it.
emails like this help too:
Hi Ms. Ingram! I hope this new school year is treating you well :) I just wanted to thank you for the random vocab dances you made us do. Today in my English 111 class my professor asked what "poignant" meant. Immediately I remembered the move and the definition from sophomore year. Other students threw out descriptions and gave example but the professor then asked for a straight definition. I raised my hand and said "emotional; deeply moving". He was so impressed with the accurate definition he gave me extra credit! I miss you're class but clearly it's still with me. So I just wanted to give you reassurance that you are a fabulous teacher :)
Best wishes,
Sarah
Class of 2013
remind me in february- i love teaching and i'm damn good at it.
emails like this help too:
Hi Ms. Ingram! I hope this new school year is treating you well :) I just wanted to thank you for the random vocab dances you made us do. Today in my English 111 class my professor asked what "poignant" meant. Immediately I remembered the move and the definition from sophomore year. Other students threw out descriptions and gave example but the professor then asked for a straight definition. I raised my hand and said "emotional; deeply moving". He was so impressed with the accurate definition he gave me extra credit! I miss you're class but clearly it's still with me. So I just wanted to give you reassurance that you are a fabulous teacher :)
Best wishes,
Sarah
Class of 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
the horror! the horror!
be still my heart
some ancient yearning
be still my heart
a cruel need, a cruel beat
be still my heart
to a definitive halt
to a definite stop
a delay with no hope
an end
be still my heart
some backtracking
and the way it feels
to hug a new body for the first time
the way you feel new in your own skin too
(i barely remember- the distance
i barely remember- the intimacy).
bare
too bare
to bare
to bear
something always known
some thing to let go
when the instinct is to grasp
the habit says to hold
the early morning light says
merrily we dream
but night brings dark & a slow beating heart
we cling
-how cruel-
we cling
some ancient yearning
be still my heart
a cruel need, a cruel beat
be still my heart
to a definitive halt
to a definite stop
a delay with no hope
an end
be still my heart
some backtracking
and the way it feels
to hug a new body for the first time
the way you feel new in your own skin too
(i barely remember- the distance
i barely remember- the intimacy).
bare
too bare
to bare
to bear
something always known
some thing to let go
when the instinct is to grasp
the habit says to hold
the early morning light says
merrily we dream
but night brings dark & a slow beating heart
we cling
-how cruel-
we cling
Saturday, September 7, 2013
stomach this
walls walls walls
&
motions: going through them
the incubation time for nonononononono virus is hours and hours and hours
and you will be contaminated forever without knowing
you will be infectious forever
silently and unintentionally
impacting just about anyone
wallswallswallswalls
wake up with that sour presence
and absence at once
it is not so dramatic
it is mostly calm
it is mostly hungry for regular food
but not ready
to process it yet.
&
motions: going through them
the incubation time for nonononononono virus is hours and hours and hours
and you will be contaminated forever without knowing
you will be infectious forever
silently and unintentionally
impacting just about anyone
wallswallswallswalls
wake up with that sour presence
and absence at once
it is not so dramatic
it is mostly calm
it is mostly hungry for regular food
but not ready
to process it yet.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
some men
at an art show with my mom and she is looking at picnic baskets for sale and i am taking a picture of the flowered sunglasses she's holding in her hands when a man finds his way into conversation- attractive, older man who clearly has kept himself up- looks like a chiropractor or the kind of dentist that would be featured in advertisements with a teeth baring smile.
he talks, at first, about this neat photography exhibit that he and his wife (a bulldog face woman he keeps calling "honey" who is also looking at baskets) had seen in LA. he even includes her in the conversation, asking what museum it had been. my mom and his wife step a little further away and then he is making sure to include that this exhibit was very sexual and risque- open legs- scandalous without being showy- and his words had this excitable, desperate sort of tone that confused me. i thought we were talking about photography. at some point i realize that he isn't really talking about photography at all.
a natural pause occurs and i start to move away, but a few minutes later he casually found his way back over and mentions in a jumbled mess that he noticed that i was a photographer and he noticed that my dress was stylish and sexy- he said sexy- and then his wife is asking about the picnic baskets from the other side of the booth and i wonder if she heard how he was speaking (she MUST have heard how he was speaking) and i'm just confused as to why this man that i do not know at all is being so openly sexual with me with his pained face bulldog wife in tote and i still do not know why or who or what the fuck kind of world this is.
he talks, at first, about this neat photography exhibit that he and his wife (a bulldog face woman he keeps calling "honey" who is also looking at baskets) had seen in LA. he even includes her in the conversation, asking what museum it had been. my mom and his wife step a little further away and then he is making sure to include that this exhibit was very sexual and risque- open legs- scandalous without being showy- and his words had this excitable, desperate sort of tone that confused me. i thought we were talking about photography. at some point i realize that he isn't really talking about photography at all.
a natural pause occurs and i start to move away, but a few minutes later he casually found his way back over and mentions in a jumbled mess that he noticed that i was a photographer and he noticed that my dress was stylish and sexy- he said sexy- and then his wife is asking about the picnic baskets from the other side of the booth and i wonder if she heard how he was speaking (she MUST have heard how he was speaking) and i'm just confused as to why this man that i do not know at all is being so openly sexual with me with his pained face bulldog wife in tote and i still do not know why or who or what the fuck kind of world this is.
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