"Vem por aqui" - dizem-me alguns com os olhos doces-- Cântico Negro, José Régio
Estendendo-me os braços, e seguros
De que seria bom que eu os ouvisse
Quando me dizem: "vem por aqui!"
Eu olho-os com olhos lassos,
(Há, nos olhos meus, ironias e cansaços)
E cruzo os braços,
E nunca vou por ali...
A minha glória é esta:
Criar desumanidade!
Não acompanhar ninguém.
- Que eu vivo com o mesmo sem-vontade
Com que rasguei o ventre a minha mãe
Não, não vou por aí! Só vou por onde
Me levam meus próprios passos...
Se ao que busco saber nenhum de vós responde
Por que me repetis: "vem por aqui!"?
Prefiro escorregar nos becos lamacentos,
Redemoinhar aos ventos,
Como farrapos, arrastar os pés sangrentos,
A ir por aí...
I had an overweight, amiable, Portuguese George Clooney (with more nose hair) passionately recite this to me in a cafe last night. It was neat. It was one of those moments where I realized while it was happening that I was experiencing it because of all the other life choices I've ever made. That of all places, I was there. I wish moments didn't have to be so unique to elicit awe. To elicit awe on such a thing as your general circumstances. Which in itself is cool. The second those moments stop coming, someone shoot me.
Secondarily, it made me realize that I need to find something to memorize and later impress people with. As it stands, I can only recite the opening of Romeo and Juliet, 'Solace' by Dorothy Parker and virtually every line from the stage version of Footloose. I still remember a prof of mine reciting Chaucer (we spent weeks analyzing the third and fourth lines of the prologue from The Cantebury Tales -- I can take you step by step from Middle English to Modern English when it comes to the sounds in those two lines (prospective employers, check this girl out)). I'm sure it was their charisma and not the content -- they could've been speaking gobbledegook and the passion would've carried through -- but nonetheless, I think it would be in my best interest to memorize a French poem or something.
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| As long as you are not reading me, the fourth word of this sentence has no referent. |
J-Wow (as he shall be known) told me I was interesting. I was interesting because of the passion with which I spoke of things. I never get that. I only get how disengaged I am. Either I was faking it sufficiently to make a good first impression or conversations are more like sex than I realized: the output you produce is substantially a reflection of the other person, or that other person's effect on you. Probably both. I wonder what I would do if I ran into someone that spoke Lezgian. Oh, shit! Lezgian is classified as 'vulnerable' by UNESCO's World Atlas of Endangered Languages. Better get on my Lezgian lessons before the next generation dies and my generation makes English the desired tongue. Did you know there are 191 documented languages spoken in the US? I didn't know Yiddish was endangered. Welsh is vulnerable, too! I also didn't know this: The Last Two Speakers of Ayapaneco Aren't Speaking to Each Other. Talk about being forced into something. And the least mature comment I've made all day: Anal has 23,000 speakers and Anus as 70. I can't believe I just said that. Instead of those pageant moms, I'm gonna be that mom that forces her kid into spelling bees and learning three languages at once. My kid won't have friends. That's okay, though. He/She'll be trilingual and probably above 5'10'', so they're set.
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| BECAUSE I SURE CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING TO TOP IT. |
I sang "I'm Proud to be an American" through the streets of Ho Chi Minh today. This was only after I logged into Facebook and was reminded that it was July 4th by all the statuses about fireworks. Then I sang a song about bubble tea. I'm thinking about going on a bubble tea diet. It's like drinking and eating at the same time and I really like killing two birds with one stone. Think of the time I'll save! Tempus fugit! I do realize that by that logic I should only be eating hot pockets, yes.
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| It's big, it's blue, it's round, and it's about goddamn time, honey. |
The Mountain from TSO Photography on Vimeo.
Man, when I was a kid, all we had was the Grout Museum, and all that was was a couple of mannequins dressed up in bonnets holding rusty lanterns and warming themselves over a cardboard cutout of a lit woodburning fireplace. And a John Deere tractor. And a gift shop where you could buy John Deere tractor hats. I once went to the Griffith Observatory in Hollywood and there was this group of 5th graders learning about shit I had to learn about in college. Iowa is a good place to grow up if you don't want to get mugged, but you sure aren't going to not get mugged because you distracted your mugger with a well-timed quip about thermodynamics.
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| Your breakfast is gonna taste so good tomorrow morning. |
Part II: Between Scylla and Charybdis
Let's say I'm getting interrogated. Here's how the following would play out:
"Jackie. Jacqueline. Has any man seen your lady parts lately?"
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, one has.""Where was it?"
"In the women's bathroom at one of the many local movie theatres.""...That's rather...unlike you, is it not?"
"It wasn't consensual.""I'm afraid I don't understand. You were raped?"
"No. Not at all. I suppose my dignity was raped, sure, but that's not what you mean.""Just tell us what happened."
"Do you want the Reader's Digest ver--""Just tell us."
"Okay. Well, you see, I went to see X-Men, right? Which was fantabulous by the way. But before the movie, I figured I should pee because I hate getting up in the middle of movies and wondering what happened in that five minutes you missed even though the person you're with always tells you not to worry because you didn't miss anything. Anyway. I venture to the ladies' room and start my nice, solitary pee when I notice a shadow eerily close to my door. I think it's strange initially, sure, but then I brush it off as a woman backing up as far as she can from the mirror to see how big her butt looks. I continue my thing. Then, before I know it, a man is sticking his entire head into my stall, underneath the door. Unfortunately, instead of thinking quickly and wearing cleats that day, all I think of to do or say is, "Woah". He jets like a whore outta church and I stand there, confused as to whether I should commend him for his bravery or to stare down every mofo in the place with a light-colored collar."I've been waiting for something like that to happen for a conclusion to this blog post. Thank God.
xoxo,
J
