The Story of Mr. W & Ms. G - Chapter I: You never know...

Published by Iris in Inspired by, Movies, Bubbledom ~,
Published on 08/24/07 at 09:27:00 am using 360 words.

You stop by a store one day to find The Interpreter on sale and you buy it on impulse. Not something you’d been looking for. More of a spur-of-the-moment whim. A movie you like well enough but wouldn’t put on your favorites list. One of those you love for a handful of scenes or a handful of lines you hold dear to the point of purchase. And you take it home. And you watch it for the third time, after the movie theater and after the DVD rental and on that third occasion you find a line that’ll come to mean more to you than you’ve ever expected. As if it were there waiting to be discovered, pearly - small and opaque, hard to zero in on, but impossibly valuable once found. Impossibly applicable…

“You never know who you’re gonna meet, do you?”


You certainly don’t. People come into your life in all shapes and sizes. Out of the blue, bathed in a variety of hues. Bringing coincidences with them - deer-shaped ones, tattoos, habits, recurring names, a repeated word here and there. Little things that can add a measure of fear and discomfort to the heart of the most rational of people. But slowly the differences shed their shyness and plant their flag. Let you know they’re worthier of a spotlight. And the people that come into your life morph into different shapes and different sizes, different hues… taking a whole different place in your life. Becoming something they may not have been to begin with. We all have it in us to become different in the eyes of the people that surround us or that we surround, to gain or lose depth, to be an immeasurable uncharted desert - something foreign which belongs in a whole different continent - or the palm of a hand, your own hand, with all its intersecting, intricate, familiar lines - something you find hard to imagine being without it’s so close.

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Talamasca - Illusion World/Illusion World


Sydney Pollack - R.I.P.

The Little Dance

Published by Iris in Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/24/07 at 02:30:00 am using 359 words.

When I first started working at the place I am now (Teaching, for those of you who don’t know me from Eve) I had the distinct impression that I would never really cut it and by cutting it, I mean, being as good as the expectations were high. After a month-long training, I still felt green, undercooked, rare, out of season (you get the idea…) But I was promised that I’d find my way sometime. And promised by people I’d come to trust. Practice, they said. And practice I did.

Little by little I began to feel like I was standing on firmer ground. The target speed started coming to me more and more effortlessly and at that, self-awareness departed. Sort of like being onstage, or on drugs - in a state where the ultimate goal is to lose yourself. I’d never thought a job might prompt such a revolution in a human being’s natural disposition.

This morning I was teaching my intensive group shooting away commands, whipping them into shape as we call it, when one of them interrupted with the following question: “Can you do that little dance again?” I was baffled! I had absolutely no recollection of having just done a little dance! I felt like a drunken person waking up after having blacked out the night before. And this terrible feeling of self-consciousness so familiar to me sneaked back into the room. What else had I done in class I wasn’t conscious of?

Consciousness is a double-edged sword. According to Annie Savoy, “The world is made for people who aren’t cursed with self awareness.” (Annie Savoy, you remember her! The lucky lady who - as the credits rolled - got to dance with the guy who believes in slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days… Bull Durham, if you’re not a fellow movie fiend.) But then again, how scary is it to be asked to do that little dance again when you have no clue what that little dance looked like…

(Originally written on March 14, 2007)

Remembering and Forgetting

Published by Iris in Inspired by, Movies, Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/19/07 at 11:22:00 am using 482 words.

(For anyone who’s seen and loved ‘Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind’)

How worthwhile is it to remember things? Or rather to remember everything? Does forgetting exist out of necessity? And who’s to decide what’s remembered or forgotten? This feels like ‘Among other things - Revisited’ to me, and I guess I am attracted to the idea of an entirely gray world where nothing is simply what it seems. It is that and something different every degree it’s rotated.

So how worthwhile is it to remember everything? Or rather how worthwhile is it to forget certain things? To systematically choose a string of moments, the people at their center, or one moment in time and the person being orbited and decide they’re not worth the space they occupy in your memory bank. To make that decision for yourself… How worthwhile?

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What I am to you

Published by Iris in Inspired by, Music ♫, Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/18/07 at 09:12:00 am using 227 words.

‘What I am to you…’ is confined to you and me but it can be affected at anytime by unexpected arrivals. It’s as though we’re in a room with a closed door that can be barged into by anyone and anything at anytime. By sunlight, by normally peaceful trees used as pawns by an angry storm, by alluring smiles, by well chosen words… words you may need. Even by your own shadow. That dark, smoky, intangible, untouchable you. The part of you that is made up of fears and remnants of every rottenness that was ever done to you.
There is no locking this room. It’s meant to be invaded, it needs to be watched over, paid attention to. It needs to be cleaned regularly (vacuumed, yes) and it needs to be steeped in silence (like a Twinings teabag in water, yes)
Appropriate silence.
The kind that is ushered in by a gentle shushing.
The kind that is needed.
The kind that is meant as the proper soundtrack for search - as a hand in searching.
The polite variety.
The kind that will do its job and graciously bow out, to later return when it’s beckoned again.

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Damien Rice - Volcano/O

Language & Communication (Waking Life)

Published by Iris in Memorable Scenes,
Published on 08/14/07 at 03:11:08 am using 282 words.

Creation seems to come out of imperfection. It seems to come out of a striving and a frustration. And this is where I think language came from. I mean, it came from our desire to transcend our isolation and have some sort of connection with one another. And it had to be easy when it was just simple survival like, you know, “water.” We came up with a sound for that. Or “saber-toothed tiger right behind you.” We came up with a sound for that. But when it gets really interesting, I think is when we use that same system of symbols to communicate all the abstract and intangible things that we’re experiencing. What is, like frustration? Or what is anger? Or love? When I say “love,” the sound comes out of my mouth and it hits the other person’s ear, travels through this byzantine conduit in their brain through their memories of love or lack of love and they register what I’m saying and say yes, they understand. But how do I know they understand? Because words are inert. They’re just symbols. They’re dead, you know? And so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed. It’s unspeakable. And yet, you know, when we communicate with one another and we feel that we have connected and we think that we’re understood, I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion. And that feeling might be transient, but I think it’s what we live for.

The DR Effect

Published on 08/12/07 at 11:21:00 am using 112 words.

Music has a knack for trivializing even the most powerful emotions. Words read on a piece of paper, have a way of conveying the kind of intimacy that can easily be sidetracked by a beat or rhythm. The most heartfelt of words can lose their impact completely if set to music. If mismatched, the notes can have a smoke screen effect. If properly matched… the Damien Rice effect. Something akin to hypnosis in that it affords the listener enough inner quiet to delve deep into the soul of a soulful song.

My Jordan Catalano

Published by Iris in Inspired by, Memory Lane, People,
Published on 08/09/07 at 02:39:00 pm using 230 words.

Appearance wise, equal parts an intellectual and an artist. Shoulder length brown hair, five o’clock shadow, brown blue eyes at times behind prescription glasses. Ease around an acoustic guitar. Ease onstage spouting Shakespeare. Ease sculpting clay. Ease in classrooms and hallways. An innately easy going way about him as though the imaginary circumference around him extended further than mine or anybody else’s ever could, as though it were actually, unprecedentedly inexistent, as though he could talk to virtually anyone and be at home virtually anywhere. A beauty perhaps not striking (I’m assuming here, it was to me) but at once accessible and somehow superior - exuding an unadolescent version of popularity (one without the faintest hint of pretension.) Everything you’re inexplicably compelled to circle when still, follow when moving, blush in proximity of, stare at blindly and see a new addition to the seven wonders of the world in. Everything you can’t help but admire and try your hardest to commit to memory only to realize years later that the effort made to achieve the latter was all but unnecessary.

(Felt from 9/90-6/91 give or take, and set down in writing sometime in 2002 on the back of two photographs)

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Extreme - More than words


Published by Iris in Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/08/07 at 01:22:00 am using 134 words.

Nothing can make you run in the opposite direction like that which is wholly unexpected. The 4.6 middle-of-the-night shaker to the first timer in earthquake country, the terminal illness, the heated argument, the alien to the movie character. Given the right motivation, anyone can run. Run faster and farther than they ever thought possible. But where does running get you? Hopefully to a quiet place where you can contritely plot your return. If not, to a quiet place (a halfway house, a stepping stone) where you can timidly, with guilt-stricken sparkling eyes plot your way even further. Further from the epicenter, the hospital bed, the forever blemished stairway, the all too real movie set.