Hugs

Published by Iris in Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/08/07 at 01:10:00 am using 74 words.

It’s funny to me how people fit. How arms open and people thrust themselves right into one another… and not just sexually, besides, beyond sexually…

How arms know exactly where to go, how a right cheek finds and presses itself against another right cheek and chins rest on shoulders and… hugs are made.

Unfamiliar Words

Published by Iris in Inspired by, The Written Word, Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/06/07 at 11:22:00 am using 97 words.

I love an unfamiliar word. Glanced at, lying comfortably on a page. Raised from it. Made to levitate without the threat of a fall. Read once, silently. Again, out loud and repeated. Acclimating itself to the shape of a mouth. To the forcefulness of a breath. To the degree of strength with which it’ll be pushed forth (born, if you will) into the world.

The discovery of words by people.
The discovery of people by words.

The Home of Truth

Published by Iris in Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/05/07 at 06:48:00 am using 200 words.

Truth’s only home is the present.
Outside the present, truth just floats in space as though in zero gravity.
Amorphous - not solid, not liquid… mercury-like, poisonous.
Truth is only truth as we know it, as we think of it, in the present. Anywhere else it loses its identity.
In the past, it may not have come to be yet.
In the future it may have already fizzled.
Only the present can make something uttered… utterly real. And the present is but a moment.
My biggest mistake is, wanting to protest against the ephemeral nature of truth - wanting to hold on to truths for longer than I should simply because mine feel eternal.
No one’s truths are eternal.
No human truth is ever eternal.
But they all feel as though they are – there lies their charm, their seductiveness, their capacity for inspiring attachment and admiration.
Truth is ultimately sneaky, untrustworthy… but for a moment. And a moment is hardly ever deemed enough.

Greedy bastards we are…

…I am.

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
The Pretenders - Human/Viva El Amor

Finding a subject

Published on 08/03/07 at 08:58:00 am using 101 words.

A subject is not chosen. It makes itself available. It pats you on the shoulder, makes some attention seeking gesture and proceeds to flirt. Fixes its Jeff Buckley eyes on you, flashes enough of its Billy Crudup smiles to find a permanent spot under your skin. It toys with the imagination – eggs it on. It seduces precisely by retaining a good chunk of its mystery. Writing is all about seduction.

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Jeff Buckley - Grace/Grace

A View from the Fence

Published by Iris in Random Thoughts,
Published on 08/02/07 at 01:20:00 am using 325 words.

More than ever I think my thoughts are meant for no one but me. (Then, what am I doing here, right? Good question.)

I’ve never had much practice imparting everything that went on inside me… not even most things. Quite the contrary. I’ve always been very comfortable in my own company. Very comfortable answering my own questions, giving myself advice, trusting myself… That may sound schizophrenic but it’s actually the basis, the heart, the brains, the bricks and mortar of a self reliant way of life. You can’t expect anyone to be there for you. It’s lovely when someone is and you do welcome it but it should never be expected. Expectation has a way of putting you face to face with disappointment. It’s true, it may not… but then again… it may. No harm in making an effort to avoid disappointment or coming up with a strategy to bypass it… no harm in being willing to be disappointed either… most things labeled ‘bad’ have it in them to bring about edification even though pleasant feelings have a way of garnering more popularity votes. Comfort speaks louder, I guess.

Distance can do so many things… It starts off by allowing your imagination to run wild. What a feeling it is to run wild! Intoxicating… It allows you to jump from this moment to that moment, overlooking coherence, choosing your favorites, creating original ones… creating… molding things to perfection. But then, those things start begging to take root and feel steadier… as if they had been childishly spinning and suddenly stop to find the spinning goes on without their say… taking alien turns… hence the request for roots and steadiness - a wish that distance, at the height of its imperiousness, prevents from being granted.

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Damien Rice - Grey Room/9

For You

Published by Iris in Inspired by, Bubbledom ~, Written @ E.U., People,
Published on 08/01/07 at 08:49:06 pm using 21 words.

That seemed like such an inconsequential moment - so momentous in hindsight. Everything about it has meaning now. The time according to Tom. The story of the world as it began according to us.
Every new connection made, starts the clock again, back at midnight or wherever in that wall-bound merry-go-round, the feeling of an awakening rests. Midnight, with its two hands in perfect parallelism, in hermetical closeness seems like a better place than most, a fitting metaphor. Our actual midnight took 10 minutes to establish itself. Things take time - this is not a movie we’re in. Ten minutes for a virtual hand to be extended and then shaken. The space between an introduction and a recognition. It feels like we were shaking more than virtual hands. So much more. Shaking each other’s very worlds.

I feel… in the midst of blossoming.
I feel… gently guided towards the change I’ve been aiming for.
I feel your wise hand pressing firmly yet tenderly against my back.
I feel this new white musk-scented air fill up my lungs and I’m changed by it with every breath.
I feel softer, more pliable.
These past months I’ve felt…

…overwhelmed, rewarded, “amplified and brightened to a gleaming state,” disappointed, stretched, justified, hurt, taught, excited, revamped, silly, weird, complicated, frustrated, enriched, misunderstood, enthralled, blunt, confused, clear-headed, sharp, sharpened, lost, alone, found, relieved, giggly, small, free, intertwined, encouraged, protected, discouraged, firmly yet tenderly pushed, listened to, vulnerable, understood, SEEN. Born into something better… a place, a time, a feeling, a life… who’s to say? Just something. Just better.

Partners, we are. Partners in this criminal act of revolutionizing a like-minded soul and making everything better. Just better.

Then, now and always (no matter what)
Iwyiml

Original Beauty

Published on 07/31/07 at 02:52:46 pm using 353 words.

The only description of beauty that’s ever worked for me:

The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kindness of her beloved instructress, or, perhaps more than all these, something in her own unique mind, had roused her powers within her. They woke, they kindled; first, they glowed in the bright tint of her cheek, which till this hour I had never seen but pale and bloodless; then they shone in the liquid luster of her eyes, which had suddenly acquired a beauty more singular than that of Miss Temple’s – a beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor penciled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance. Then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what source I cannot tell.

Jane Eyre


That always puts a smile on my face. It seems to me a vindication of every trace of beauty in the world that is not given its due recognition. And there’s so much of it…
Beauty seems to have been reduced to a selected few repetitive, albeit powerful images…

Images lacking originality.

Speaking of originality… here’s a completely unoriginal experience. I had an American Beauty moment a week ago, leaning against my window. It was windy out and a clear plastic bag was dancing in the air. I couldn’t tell precisely if it was a waltz or a ballet or some kind of modern dance but it seemed happy, dancing all by itself. The same happiness conveyed by the dancing glasses at the beginning of Amélie. It alternately expanded and shrank under the clouds. It might’ve been a rain dance… A modern dancer making an offering for rain.
It worked too.

Every day we’re conditioned a little further into believing that beauty is what we’ve been presented as beauty.
Who gets to stamp things with the beauty label? The definition needs to be expanded - seriously expanded to make up for all the shrinking, the limiting, the narrowing down it’s been subjected to.

This

Published by Iris in Memory Lane, People,
Published on 07/31/07 at 01:50:40 pm using 296 words.

This is something I’m new at. The long distance thing. It feels sudden and much too real. Fast and slow at the same time. Fast, like a bolt of lightning. Slow, like a jigsaw puzzle that promises something more breathtaking with every piece.

When I first started to see the world with my brand new 20/20 vision, I just wanted to go home and close my eyes. It defeated the purpose of the operation, which was to get me to see perfectly without aid and here I was rushing home so I could see nothing at all. Reds were the absolute worst. Reds were redder than I ever imagined they could be. I’m convinced those were the mean reds Holly Golightly talked about. Mean because they were brighter than you could handle. Because they made you wanna close your eyes.

This makes me close my eyes. This makes me wanna cover them on top of closing them just to make the darkness darker. It’s true the dark can be your friend; it can give your imagination that little extra push. But it does keep you from the world at hand. It abducts some of you. Like The Blower’s Daughter abducts some of me every time I listen to it. Like Kieslowski’s Blue abducts some of me every time I watch it. Like Buckley’s voice abducts me every time it makes itself heard. Like you abduct me every time I think of you. I wanna get used to you. I want to not have to close my eyes to see you. I want you to be the world at hand.

(Originally written on February 20, 2007)