HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Friday, May 04, 2007 someone is playing a jazz trumpet in the quadrangle outside. he's very good, whoever he is. the courtyard outside, it's affectionately called the ashtray, because people are incessantly smoking. so many people are moving out. bloody manhattan. i will miss a certain part of you. i have choreographed a dance. (in little starts and little spurts when i was in the dance studio in the basement of my building. i've added little bits with every other day, so now it's been almost consolidated. the movements all take place to the rhythm of breathing, so you don't need music. you just need to listen to your own heart. yes, very cheesy, no?) i watched tv with madi tonight, there was a law&order episode about angsty russian prostitutes and angry old men who ranted and railed like dostoevsky, then committed suicide (i hate american tv, it's retarded). madi and i were laughing half the time. oh, but i was very blue today. my friend, he was depressed. all he wanted to talk about was sex, to which i have nothing much to say. thank goodness, the call dropped, because i cannot talk about sex without feeling hysteria anymore. so i tried some quiet. recipe for quiet: broccoli, portabello, tomatoes, chicken, garlic, mozzarella, parsley and dill, salt, balsamic vinegar, sugar. then my friend, he called, he said, you have to build your life where you are of course, he's right, (he's always right, and i was always in the wrong) you build your life where you are - you can't have one foot in chicago, one hand in singapore, one ear in new york, your heart in beijing (the heart in beijing) it doesn't work that way. a person only has one age, you're either 20, or not. you're not 20, or 5, or 40 at the same time. (it must be hard to be an octopus. how does it multitask with so many limbs?) oh i'm so ridiculous. (mourning: the process by which love for one is withdrawn, attached onto another; melancholia: the failure to transpose love and longing. perhaps one would rather be in a state of melancholia, with your vodka and russian prostitutes, at least there is a certain nobility there.........) i don't even want to go back to singapore, suddenly. i was looking forward so much, and now, i don't know (it has, afterall been almost a year), i don't know if my grandfather will recognise me, i don't know if i can face the country with all its sweat and memories, and i've become so used to cooking for myself everyday (i really like my food, as a matter of fact, oh... it's a dream cooking in the heart of greenwich village) and then i'll have to go back to the office, the office, with all its unloved and repressed chain smokers. (only fools rush in where angels fear to thread, i tell myself). i love the freedom in new york, i would want to be weighed down by someone else's heart, i hate the loneliness of the big city, i love being alone. posted by dawn # 7:38 PM Comments: not quite a paradox, since loneliness and being alone are rather different things. # posted by Anonymous : 4:02 PM yes, that's true. # posted by dawn : 4:18 PM Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] michael corleoni and king edward (the prelude to t... when one has lived alone for a long time, the quie... little earthquakes The Wish as i threw down the trash down the chute today, i ... notes from the city i woke up this morning feeling ok, the sunlight wa... APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding facebook patience [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Friday, May 04, 2007

someone is playing a jazz trumpet in the quadrangle outside. he's very good, whoever he is. the courtyard outside, it's affectionately called the ashtray, because people are incessantly smoking.
so many people are moving out. bloody manhattan. i will miss a certain part of you.
i have choreographed a dance. (in little starts and little spurts when i was in the dance studio in the basement of my building. i've added little bits with every other day, so now it's been almost consolidated. the movements all take place to the rhythm of breathing, so you don't need music. you just need to listen to your own heart. yes, very cheesy, no?) i watched tv with madi tonight, there was a law&order episode about angsty russian prostitutes and angry old men who ranted and railed like dostoevsky, then committed suicide (i hate american tv, it's retarded). madi and i were laughing half the time. oh, but i was very blue today. my friend, he was depressed. all he wanted to talk about was sex, to which i have nothing much to say. thank goodness, the call dropped, because i cannot talk about sex without feeling hysteria anymore. so i tried some quiet. recipe for quiet: broccoli, portabello, tomatoes, chicken, garlic, mozzarella, parsley and dill, salt, balsamic vinegar, sugar. then my friend, he called, he said, you have to build your life where you are of course, he's right, (he's always right, and i was always in the wrong) you build your life where you are - you can't have one foot in chicago, one hand in singapore, one ear in new york, your heart in beijing (the heart in beijing) it doesn't work that way. a person only has one age, you're either 20, or not. you're not 20, or 5, or 40 at the same time. (it must be hard to be an octopus. how does it multitask with so many limbs?) oh i'm so ridiculous. (mourning: the process by which love for one is withdrawn, attached onto another; melancholia: the failure to transpose love and longing. perhaps one would rather be in a state of melancholia, with your vodka and russian prostitutes, at least there is a certain nobility there.........) i don't even want to go back to singapore, suddenly. i was looking forward so much, and now, i don't know (it has, afterall been almost a year), i don't know if my grandfather will recognise me, i don't know if i can face the country with all its sweat and memories, and i've become so used to cooking for myself everyday (i really like my food, as a matter of fact, oh... it's a dream cooking in the heart of greenwich village) and then i'll have to go back to the office, the office, with all its unloved and repressed chain smokers. (only fools rush in where angels fear to thread, i tell myself). i love the freedom in new york, i would want to be weighed down by someone else's heart, i hate the loneliness of the big city, i love being alone.

posted by dawn # 7:38 PM

Comments:

not quite a paradox, since loneliness and being alone are rather different things.

# posted by

Anonymous : 4:02 PM

yes, that's true.

# posted by

dawn : 4:18 PM