Wednesday, July 20, 2016

The Halfway of Languages: The Art of Connection

It's morning. The sky is beautiful, and I am facing a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in a cafe nowhere near the city in which I live. The music is just right. Guitars: not too country; not too folky.  Cement floors. Wooden tables. Small, bare light bulbs on thick wires strung across the room, above me.

Oatmeal and brown sugar to my left; an americano (with a dash of cinnamon) and a glass of water to my right.

I am waking up.

Thinking of the people in my life.  Thinking of something a good friend said about how being around other people who also use multiple languages somehow gives her a sense of belonging- even when the languages they use are not the ones she uses.  I understand this, somehow.  And it's strange to think about all of the people that have played a hand in me getting here- to this muti-language'd patchwork of connection.  It's awing for me to think about. I know a lot of people are brought up with multiple languages. I wasn't- minus the random scraps of my grandfather's language that was recited at birthday parties, in come-ons and in insults- so it means something to be here.  How much my life has changed.  How much people and language and culture and humor have changed it.

In any case: Back to these window panes. A bit more tracing the clouds with my eyes is due before I start my day.

Be well; be loved; be open: What is confining you may be yourself.


(image: Poldi, 1914, Egon Schiele via giampixx tumblr)

Monday, July 18, 2016

Cross Cultural Discussion of Eyebrow Make Up Application, or, The Chills Down My Spine

Eyes tired from adventure and necessity.

The past week has been strangers and friends and strangers you meet, on purpose, at night.

I haven't been writing much.

Sometimes the stories I live are so vast and bizarre that even I have a hard time believing them.

But in their truth, they take time to dissolve, digest, understand, enjoy.

This time around they involve magicians and mimes and Draculas and gay organists (redundant) and education administrators and no less than five languages and dancing with a person in a tuxedo whose name I do not know and speeding to get to a destination by 2 AM and beautiful views of the city and bites upon my neck (not the kind that leave gross marks) and a charming doppelgänger of Mikhail Baryshnikov who drinks apple-tinis and orders them as if he is stating a fact. 

Life is huge. 

On multiple levels and for a thousand reasons political and enjoyable: 

Step outside of what you know.  

be well; be loved,


(image: Mikhail Baryshnikov)

Monday, July 4, 2016

One Hand Loves the Other

The sun is glaring through my window, illuminating me and the pile of note cards that surround me with things like ANDROGEN INSENSITIVITY SYNDROME and BIPOTENTIAL STRUCTURES PRESENT AT EACH STAGE scribbled across them. My elbow rests on a page from the American Journal of Human Biology to reach my keyboard.

I'm taking a break from studying to write...something...and to take care of the cherry pits that are scattered around my books and cup of coffee upon the table.

These days have been so happy.
Connected and solitary all at once.


The family I have created is a strong one.

The visions that I have are strong ones.

Let's get to all of it.

(Imagine the most emotion pulling film score, here. Full of trumpets and violins; crescendos and elation.)

Back to the books and The Case of the Missing Androgen Receptor,


Listen to An Echo a Stain.

(title credit: A lyric from Bjork's song Unison, off the album Verpertine)
(image: I fucked up, here. It's from Tumblr. I'm not sure where it's from, but upon investigating, it looks like it originates from Stephane Rolland Haute Couture)