(As written on the inside cover of my notebook.)
This is an imitation
of a ‘notebook’.
It appears to be
a stack of thin sheets of pulped wood and fibre,
bound by metal rings,
sitting here in your hands,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting…
But what does it wait for?
you ask.
Does it await
the settling of your dreams
into this curious integration of squiggles
called words?
Does it await
the spilling of your ink and graphite
after battles
of ideology?
Or does it await
the true awakening
of your enigmatic mind?
Ah,
I say.
It does not await a thing,
for this imitation of a ‘notebook’
is merely a figment of your imagination.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
07.27.10 | Amelia Earhart
To delve into a sea of blue
And not get wet
But still feel the exhilaration—
Now, that is the magic
Of flying.
To hear the sound of wings
And imagine
I am a bird, whisp'ring
To the people and trees
That swish by,
I am victim
To the lure of flying;
I am a hobo of the air.
(Note: the last line is a quote by Earhart herself.)
And not get wet
But still feel the exhilaration—
Now, that is the magic
Of flying.
To hear the sound of wings
And imagine
I am a bird, whisp'ring
To the people and trees
That swish by,
I am victim
To the lure of flying;
I am a hobo of the air.
(Note: the last line is a quote by Earhart herself.)
Saturday, May 8, 2010
05.09.10 | Alphabet Soup
I am swimming in a sea of commas and semicolons, trying to reach punctual shore, but these raging asyndetons and clauses and appositives and polysyndetons keep crashing, crashing, crashing at my power of will, trying to push me below literal surface. What is the meaning behind all of this?
But I don't want to drown in its seemingly bottomless sea. I wish to just stay on the surface, to make my way to Euphoria as soon as possible, where I'll finally be free of the strict rule of Syntax. Just swallow the words, I told myself. No need to digest—just keep going.
There are now predicates on my tail. Looking for their subjects, perhaps? But I have none to spare, for I am trying to survive; I have a goal.
I swim faster to prevent their action-verb teeth from chomping off my toes and feet, but homophones are straining me, pulling me in all directions but up. Who commanded all these actions?!
My body is tired. I have gained quite a distance between the predicates and myself. I take one gulp of air and decide to let go for a moment, to immerse myself briefly, just once. Beneath the surface I saw monsters - metaphors, similes, symbols, allegories. Terrified by their overwhelming complication, I resurfaced.
The shores of Euphoria are closer now. I see the waves of words crashing on the shores and breaking into letters and sinking into the sand to settle there as forgotten lore, meaningless. I could feel the sea loosening its grip on me, but due to my fatigue, I could not swim much faster.
After a while, I finally am washed ashore, out of breath.
But I don't want to drown in its seemingly bottomless sea. I wish to just stay on the surface, to make my way to Euphoria as soon as possible, where I'll finally be free of the strict rule of Syntax. Just swallow the words, I told myself. No need to digest—just keep going.
There are now predicates on my tail. Looking for their subjects, perhaps? But I have none to spare, for I am trying to survive; I have a goal.
I swim faster to prevent their action-verb teeth from chomping off my toes and feet, but homophones are straining me, pulling me in all directions but up. Who commanded all these actions?!
My body is tired. I have gained quite a distance between the predicates and myself. I take one gulp of air and decide to let go for a moment, to immerse myself briefly, just once. Beneath the surface I saw monsters - metaphors, similes, symbols, allegories. Terrified by their overwhelming complication, I resurfaced.
The shores of Euphoria are closer now. I see the waves of words crashing on the shores and breaking into letters and sinking into the sand to settle there as forgotten lore, meaningless. I could feel the sea loosening its grip on me, but due to my fatigue, I could not swim much faster.
After a while, I finally am washed ashore, out of breath.
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