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 Sunday, March 30, 2008 how to sleep i'm grappling some difficult questions, and i admit it has been eating into my study, eating into my sleep, popping up when i'm trying to appreciate ithaca during afternoon runs, when i am driving, when i am eating. it's times like this, when i think about what sam used to say: let go of things, and leave it to Him. Him has become a more elusive concept, now that i'm on my own, floating in a world of uncertainty and possibilities, reinventing and inventing religion in every sense of the word. Him teaches me to realise that there is only so much i can do, and worry won't really help me at all. this doesn't mean being foolishly patient, but it means letting go when i have done all i have needed to do. i need to stop envisioning a tomorrow that is ultimately not mine to claim. until i can do this, i will never be able to sleep. - i wonder what you are thinking. i am reading mourning and melancholia now, freud. i am tired, but at least i am happy. there is a wind whipping up here. thunderstorms to usher in spring. if i stay in ithaca, i will be able to write in peace, if he comes up though, there will be no peace. with my writing, i will become famous and lots of men will want to have sex with me. ok, joke, joke. with my writing and my intense slowness at writing, if i get something out, it will be embarrassing. there are some old yellow roses stuck into a wine bottle on my table. very cliche, no? i am queen of cliche, queen of kitsch. it was some crappy 2006 australian red plonk, the roses were from my mom. last night he made a joke about bad poetry. but it's not really a joke, i do write, i said. then there was a long silence, and apologies. (a bit like how i very meanly, joke about his med school application essays, "you should write, "i'm awesome. and you're awesome. you know you want me. so you should take me. best regards.") so he asked, may i see what you write? i suppose so? i said. that's what they all say at first, and then all can't take in the end. posted by dawn # 4:24 PM Comments: i actually knows someone who reads your writing and wants to have sex with you, ISNT THAT RIGHT TINY. :D grats dawn, you've made it onto the list of literary mindfucks. pak # posted by Anonymous : 7:30 PM i have not. haha. who is tiny? is tiny a he or she? :) i mean, it's good to keep my options open. # posted by dawn : 11:44 AM all right that was a terrible joke. i didn't say that. # posted by dawn : 11:45 AM i dont mind hooking the two of you up together. (: pak # posted by Anonymous : 7:56 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] missing me geryon responsibility cockroaches thinking about home lah the artist forgiveness small press month! fyi horseshoe crabs [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

Sunday, March 30, 2008

how to sleep

i'm grappling some difficult questions, and i admit it has been eating into my study, eating into my sleep, popping up when i'm trying to appreciate ithaca during afternoon runs, when i am driving, when i am eating.
it's times like this, when i think about what sam used to say: let go of things, and leave it to Him. Him has become a more elusive concept, now that i'm on my own, floating in a world of uncertainty and possibilities, reinventing and inventing religion in every sense of the word. Him teaches me to realise that there is only so much i can do, and worry won't really help me at all. this doesn't mean being foolishly patient, but it means letting go when i have done all i have needed to do. i need to stop envisioning a tomorrow that is ultimately not mine to claim. until i can do this, i will never be able to sleep.

-
i wonder what you are thinking. i am reading mourning and melancholia now, freud. i am tired, but at least i am happy. there is a wind whipping up here. thunderstorms to usher in spring. if i stay in ithaca, i will be able to write in peace, if he comes up though, there will be no peace. with my writing, i will become famous and lots of men will want to have sex with me. ok, joke, joke. with my writing and my intense slowness at writing, if i get something out, it will be embarrassing. there are some old yellow roses stuck into a wine bottle on my table. very cliche, no? i am queen of cliche, queen of kitsch. it was some crappy 2006 australian red plonk, the roses were from my mom. last night he made a joke about bad poetry. but it's not really a joke, i do write, i said. then there was a long silence, and apologies. (a bit like how i very meanly, joke about his med school application essays, "you should write, "i'm awesome. and you're awesome. you know you want me. so you should take me. best regards.") so he asked, may i see what you write? i suppose so? i said. that's what they all say at first, and then all can't take in the end.

posted by dawn # 4:24 PM

Comments:

i actually knows someone who reads your writing and wants to have sex with you, ISNT THAT RIGHT TINY.

:D

grats dawn, you've made it onto the list of literary mindfucks.

pak

# posted by

Anonymous : 7:30 PM

i have not. haha.
who is tiny? is tiny a he or she? :)
i mean, it's good to keep my options open.

# posted by

dawn : 11:44 AM

all right that was a terrible joke. i didn't say that.

# posted by

dawn : 11:45 AM

i dont mind hooking the two of you up together. (:

pak

# posted by

Anonymous : 7:56 PM