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 Saturday, August 25, 2007 the road behind the house it was a hot day today, i read till my head throbbed from the heat, put on my sneakers and stepped out of the house. i past an indian man who was gesturing wildly while talking to his partner, he only had one hand, the other was a stump on his right. i wonder, what it is like to only be able to gesture with one hand. is gesturing involuntary? i usually take the red brick road that leads from the back of my house to the steel bridge that arches over a creek full of stones. i have never ventured beyond. i took a left and ran uphill. the road is long and winding, and guarded by tall trees, beneath the creek lies, glittering and silent. i had a feeling that i was running but not moving, because the road was so long. i passed old, wooden houses, timber houses on hills. i had the strangest feeling that if i held my breath, i would be able to see fairies. the sky suddenly grew dark, turning from orange to a inky black in seconds, as though populated by smoke. and i was afraid. in ithaca, they say, the weather is unpredictable. a guy in a pickup truck stopped, asked if i knew the way to ithaca college. i felt the wind was pushing me, like the hand of another, telling me to quickly go home. there was, strangely, an orange moon, large, almost complete. i think being afraid is like opening a door, when you are afraid, things, people smell it on you, and enter. i sprinted uphill till my lungs ached, arrived in the house heaving. ck was cooking, and everything was normal. - in yantai, i remember walking alone one night in yanda shi shang, the university market. i was lost, and the hutongs stretched out like a maze of noodle stalls, smoking men, men playing cards, stray dogs, wang bas. i remember a burst of fireworks flew upwards into the air -- perhaps someone was getting married, or some errant children were showing off their brilliance. with all its dirt, stray dogs, and the strench of piss, and the smell of cigarettes, china has the ability to make you feel real, aware that living takes effort, and living is difficult, difficult because life has the capacity to defy you, like stubborn, sleeping seeds on a barren field. posted by dawn # 5:19 PM Comments: hey dear, haha. its just the going back. yes i hope i will be fine! haha my mom said she'll make you cookies! say hi to jo for me. be happy dear, buy an apple! or whatever fruit is in season. okay the only fruit season i know is the durian season. =) # posted by Anonymous : 9:23 AM make me cookies! :) YAYAYAYAYAY. right now i'm not so into fruit - i'm more into salads:) maybe in december i will ask her to teach me:) # posted by Dawn Lim : 2:54 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] the breaking of all spells now that she's back in the atmosphere i am in ithaca now, learning new roads, navigating... we've known each other since we were 9 or 10 ANNOUNCEMENT! excess luggage In the sun i have been operating on two time zones for the pa... certain places reminder from rich [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

Saturday, August 25, 2007

the road behind the house

it was a hot day today, i read till my head throbbed from the heat, put on my sneakers and stepped out of the house. i past an indian man who was gesturing wildly while talking to his partner, he only had one hand, the other was a stump on his right. i wonder, what it is like to only be able to gesture with one hand. is gesturing involuntary? i usually take the red brick road that leads from the back of my house to the steel bridge that arches over a creek full of stones. i have never ventured beyond. i took a left and ran uphill. the road is long and winding, and guarded by tall trees, beneath the creek lies, glittering and silent. i had a feeling that i was running but not moving, because the road was so long. i passed old, wooden houses, timber houses on hills. i had the strangest feeling that if i held my breath, i would be able to see fairies. the sky suddenly grew dark, turning from orange to a inky black in seconds, as though populated by smoke. and i was afraid. in ithaca, they say, the weather is unpredictable. a guy in a pickup truck stopped, asked if i knew the way to ithaca college. i felt the wind was pushing me, like the hand of another, telling me to quickly go home. there was, strangely, an orange moon, large, almost complete. i think being afraid is like opening a door, when you are afraid, things, people smell it on you, and enter. i sprinted uphill till my lungs ached, arrived in the house heaving. ck was cooking, and everything was normal.

-

in yantai, i remember walking alone one night in yanda shi shang, the university market. i was lost, and the hutongs stretched out like a maze of noodle stalls, smoking men, men playing cards, stray dogs, wang bas. i remember a burst of fireworks flew upwards into the air -- perhaps someone was getting married, or some errant children were showing off their brilliance. with all its dirt, stray dogs, and the strench of piss, and the smell of cigarettes, china has the ability to make you feel real, aware that living takes effort, and living is difficult, difficult because life has the capacity to defy you, like stubborn, sleeping seeds on a barren field.

posted by dawn # 5:19 PM

Comments:

hey dear, haha. its just the going back. yes i hope i will be fine! haha my mom said she'll make you cookies! say hi to jo for me. be happy dear, buy an apple! or whatever fruit is in season. okay the only fruit season i know is the durian season. =)

# posted by

Anonymous : 9:23 AM

make me cookies! :) YAYAYAYAYAY. right now i'm not so into fruit - i'm more into salads:) maybe in december i will ask her to teach me:)

# posted by

Dawn Lim : 2:54 PM