Okay, I'd better explain myself. Why am I so happy? Just because could cover it, but also because I have engaged consistently in so many creative endeavors recently. Stories and music have flowed unrestrained from my brain via whichever medium is most convenient. So many normal and utterly fascinating people have connected with me and become my friends in the last few months, I marvel over the fact that we can do so across so many timezones.
I can't say that I lack anything right now.
I've also been exposed to so much new music and so many new ideas through these people. I'm on fire.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
LOVE IT ALL.
Ever have random moments of heart-pounding, butterflies-in-stomach pure joy on Tuesday evenings?
Me too!
Why is it so wonderful to be alive in Montreal in the summer? Everything is simple. The answer is love. Fall in. Don't be afraid.
Me too!
Why is it so wonderful to be alive in Montreal in the summer? Everything is simple. The answer is love. Fall in. Don't be afraid.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Continuing...
Wouldn't it be such a joy to lift up a rock and find something so unexpectedly beautiful that you forget who you are?
Imagine, then, what you might feel, if behind the loveliness of the most breathtaking music, behind the veil of the clouds, the face of the moon, the massive, endless forever of intergalactic space, beyond and beneath and before and within the serene eyes of your beloved - there was something so lovely and unimaginable that you realize that everything you ever were, are or will be is as a tiny molecule of hydrogen in the trillionth of a second before the heat of a star's core fuses it into helium... And that this is right and acceptable and perfect?
Imagine if you felt that way, just marveling at human imagination and ingenuity.
Imagine if you felt that way, even knowing that your wonder and joy and inspiration were electrical impulses racing through the cells of your fragile brain. Even knowing that to close your eyes and invite the darkness of sleep is to brave the non-ness of unbeing? Even knowing that one small fault in the inner workings of your circulatory system could easily snuff out all of your knowing and being and thinking and believing, as fleeting and miniscule as it is?
This is my prayer, my desperate, pleading prayer. I will be this prayer, I won't just say it or create it or think it. I am a desperate prayer of beauty and love and sadness and joy, boredom and spite, of forgiveness and ignorance and wisdom.
What do I do? What do I do with it? Do I turn away from my computer and kiss my husband good night and fall asleep? Do I dream in fervent colors that nobody can see or comprehend and then forget them myself when I awaken to a banal, dirty city and a human routine? How do I touch the impossible while still being just... Possible? I'm possible. We are all so fucking possible.
Imagine, then, what you might feel, if behind the loveliness of the most breathtaking music, behind the veil of the clouds, the face of the moon, the massive, endless forever of intergalactic space, beyond and beneath and before and within the serene eyes of your beloved - there was something so lovely and unimaginable that you realize that everything you ever were, are or will be is as a tiny molecule of hydrogen in the trillionth of a second before the heat of a star's core fuses it into helium... And that this is right and acceptable and perfect?
Imagine if you felt that way, just marveling at human imagination and ingenuity.
Imagine if you felt that way, even knowing that your wonder and joy and inspiration were electrical impulses racing through the cells of your fragile brain. Even knowing that to close your eyes and invite the darkness of sleep is to brave the non-ness of unbeing? Even knowing that one small fault in the inner workings of your circulatory system could easily snuff out all of your knowing and being and thinking and believing, as fleeting and miniscule as it is?
This is my prayer, my desperate, pleading prayer. I will be this prayer, I won't just say it or create it or think it. I am a desperate prayer of beauty and love and sadness and joy, boredom and spite, of forgiveness and ignorance and wisdom.
What do I do? What do I do with it? Do I turn away from my computer and kiss my husband good night and fall asleep? Do I dream in fervent colors that nobody can see or comprehend and then forget them myself when I awaken to a banal, dirty city and a human routine? How do I touch the impossible while still being just... Possible? I'm possible. We are all so fucking possible.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Bad Cats, Bad Cats (Whatcha gonna do?)
I was at the kitty shelter yesterday evening when one of the techs started violently cursing in French. A fat, gray and white kitty named Malzaka comes rampaging into the kitchen and hides in a corner, followed by the tech, who was carrying a box full of clean syringes.
"I watched her PEE all over them," she explained, miming a blithe, squatting cat taking a piss.
And so we had to scrub and bleach them all. ::sigh::
"I watched her PEE all over them," she explained, miming a blithe, squatting cat taking a piss.
And so we had to scrub and bleach them all. ::sigh::
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Anything Other than Joy
It's winter in the northern hemisphere, including Montreal, which is currently topping out at -3 Fahrenheit in the middle of the afternoon. It's pretty cold, but I think it looks colder in Fahrenheit; we switched over to Celsius years ago, and temps seem so much more manageable.
I had my weekly French lesson after work tonight, wandered home through a Hades-esque evening, did a whole bunch of chores, devoured eggs on an English muffin, and am currently lounging, a glass of Merlot in one hand, a piece of sea-salted dark chocolate in the other hand and Michael Bublé crooning from my speakers.
Livin' the dream. I swear. This is what life is freaking all about. The galaxies swirling quietly overhead, out of sight but not out of mind, the rich taste of crushed and fermented grapes (born from a planet and nurtured by a star!) on my tongue, and the human voice. A tiny/enormous miracle. In this moment, I ask myself how people can fight with each other, be angry with other, decide not to forgive each other. How can I wake up and decide not to feel anything other than joy.
How can people doubt that everything containing the spark of life, the urge to grow, to thrive, to cling tenaciously to this urge in the face of roiling cosmic extremes, is not full of soul. It's everywhere. Every mote is singing to us, the gray grit that we try our best to drive from our tables and shelves is the product of a star, or of a living creature. Why aren't we all singing, marveling?
I had my weekly French lesson after work tonight, wandered home through a Hades-esque evening, did a whole bunch of chores, devoured eggs on an English muffin, and am currently lounging, a glass of Merlot in one hand, a piece of sea-salted dark chocolate in the other hand and Michael Bublé crooning from my speakers.
Livin' the dream. I swear. This is what life is freaking all about. The galaxies swirling quietly overhead, out of sight but not out of mind, the rich taste of crushed and fermented grapes (born from a planet and nurtured by a star!) on my tongue, and the human voice. A tiny/enormous miracle. In this moment, I ask myself how people can fight with each other, be angry with other, decide not to forgive each other. How can I wake up and decide not to feel anything other than joy.
How can people doubt that everything containing the spark of life, the urge to grow, to thrive, to cling tenaciously to this urge in the face of roiling cosmic extremes, is not full of soul. It's everywhere. Every mote is singing to us, the gray grit that we try our best to drive from our tables and shelves is the product of a star, or of a living creature. Why aren't we all singing, marveling?
Monday, January 20, 2014
New Family Members
Back in mid-November, Caspian and I did some research, purchased a beautiful rolling cage (12 cubic feet!) and lots of toys, and adopted two little... RATS! Yes, rats, from the Montreal SPCA.
Their names are Mimo and Castielle. Mimo is a black berkshire (black with a white belly and arms), and Castielle is a siamese (classic beige to dark points and dark ears). Mimo is about 500 grams, and Cass is closer to 700.
Lots of drama immediately ensued in the form of Mimo becoming a chomp monster - I got an unprovoked bite on the knuckle so severe that the knuckle capsule could be seen through the opening, and I should have gotten a stitch... Now I have to live the rest of my life with a big knot of scar tissue on my first knuckle.
Rats have been bred for 200 years to be docile, gentle and affectionate; aggression is extremely unusual and most often results from a hormonal imbalance or frank abuse (only 1/100 rats will aggressively bite a human and draw blood). They may have been neglected during their first 10 months of life (rats only live for 2 years), but I don't think they had been abused or terrorized.
Long story short, Mimo was suffering from a genetic testosterone overload, causing him to be especially territorial and bite the crap out of anyone that ventured into HIS space. So... We had both of them neutered, and now they are complete dolls!
Last night, we did a little experiment to see if they knew their names. They had about an hour of playtime on the spare bed, with plenty of boxes and ramps and blankets to scamper through. Their cage had been rolled over to the bed so they could go in and out as they pleased, and they feel very safe in their cage. It's the first place they run if something startles them. There are all kinds of huts and hideaways, hammocks and corners for hanging out and stashing treats in.
Anyway, after an hour of playtime, they got sleepy and willingly found their little hut-houses. Caspian removed the toys from the bed, laid down with a blanket covering him and called for Mimo. Mimo's little fuzzy black nose pokes out of his hut, and he bounds happily up Steven's body and sits on his chest! He knows his name! He got a treat (a piece of cereal) and bounded, lightning fast, back into his hut so his brother wouldn't steal it from him. And then Cass did the same - only slower, with more waddling.
I love them both. They are so clever and they smell good, like freshly-fried tortilla chips with a hint of fabric softener. Their little faces melt my heart. How could anybody neglect them?
Their names are Mimo and Castielle. Mimo is a black berkshire (black with a white belly and arms), and Castielle is a siamese (classic beige to dark points and dark ears). Mimo is about 500 grams, and Cass is closer to 700.
Lots of drama immediately ensued in the form of Mimo becoming a chomp monster - I got an unprovoked bite on the knuckle so severe that the knuckle capsule could be seen through the opening, and I should have gotten a stitch... Now I have to live the rest of my life with a big knot of scar tissue on my first knuckle.
Rats have been bred for 200 years to be docile, gentle and affectionate; aggression is extremely unusual and most often results from a hormonal imbalance or frank abuse (only 1/100 rats will aggressively bite a human and draw blood). They may have been neglected during their first 10 months of life (rats only live for 2 years), but I don't think they had been abused or terrorized.
Long story short, Mimo was suffering from a genetic testosterone overload, causing him to be especially territorial and bite the crap out of anyone that ventured into HIS space. So... We had both of them neutered, and now they are complete dolls!
Last night, we did a little experiment to see if they knew their names. They had about an hour of playtime on the spare bed, with plenty of boxes and ramps and blankets to scamper through. Their cage had been rolled over to the bed so they could go in and out as they pleased, and they feel very safe in their cage. It's the first place they run if something startles them. There are all kinds of huts and hideaways, hammocks and corners for hanging out and stashing treats in.
Anyway, after an hour of playtime, they got sleepy and willingly found their little hut-houses. Caspian removed the toys from the bed, laid down with a blanket covering him and called for Mimo. Mimo's little fuzzy black nose pokes out of his hut, and he bounds happily up Steven's body and sits on his chest! He knows his name! He got a treat (a piece of cereal) and bounded, lightning fast, back into his hut so his brother wouldn't steal it from him. And then Cass did the same - only slower, with more waddling.
I love them both. They are so clever and they smell good, like freshly-fried tortilla chips with a hint of fabric softener. Their little faces melt my heart. How could anybody neglect them?
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Untitled
Gravitational lensing reveals the smallest, faintest galaxies of the ancient universe.
There must be life, out there in the universe. Lots of it. All kinds.
I am inspired -
If there was only .00000001% chance that a planet harbors life, there are millions - billions! - harboring it - and we can't be unique or rare, us smart ones - we are gazing into the searching/curious/unknowing eyes of the others whenever we glance up -
How can this conference call possibly stress me out now? After a realization like this!
All of this universal wondering and yearning, we have to be touching each other on some plane, and our lives begin and end and focus within just a miniscule portion on this vast scale to the point that even trying to fathom it is beyond the capabilities of our brains. Not only our lives, but the life of our galaxy, are just a billion billion billion brief flares of light and energy that disperse moment by moment in the eyes of god -
Why, why why why should we be afraid
Let's be full of joy
Burn out with joy
It's amazing
I worry about my smile lines in the same moment that I am embraced by this macrocosm of wonder and mystery
And we all are
And most people just look up and see "the sky"
We are not alone.
There must be life, out there in the universe. Lots of it. All kinds.
I am inspired -
If there was only .00000001% chance that a planet harbors life, there are millions - billions! - harboring it - and we can't be unique or rare, us smart ones - we are gazing into the searching/curious/unknowing eyes of the others whenever we glance up -
How can this conference call possibly stress me out now? After a realization like this!
All of this universal wondering and yearning, we have to be touching each other on some plane, and our lives begin and end and focus within just a miniscule portion on this vast scale to the point that even trying to fathom it is beyond the capabilities of our brains. Not only our lives, but the life of our galaxy, are just a billion billion billion brief flares of light and energy that disperse moment by moment in the eyes of god -
Why, why why why should we be afraid
Let's be full of joy
Burn out with joy
It's amazing
I worry about my smile lines in the same moment that I am embraced by this macrocosm of wonder and mystery
And we all are
And most people just look up and see "the sky"
We are not alone.
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