The past stumbles through my dreams
And sits on my chest1.
Pray for relief that is rain,
And sleep like a handkerchief.
1Fun fact: the ‘mare’ in ‘nightmare’ refers to an evil spirit that, well, sits on people’s chests while they are sleeping.
Just some thrown-together notes from today-
“Please stand behind the yellow line…”
iphone 6S adverts above the train platform
Shot a baby and a leaf on iPhone 6S. Also the girl from Orphan (it’s a horror movie).
Reading on the train, someone on wordpress likens ink to pepper on a tablecloth (Do We Write To Fill A Page? by Joel D. Hirst). At the bookshop; The Unbearable Lightness of Being, alone. I sat cross-legged on the floor like a street peddler, devoured three chapters.
Take the stairs instead of escalator. Passing reflective surfaces, I think about this line:
‘… in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body.’ Milan Kundera
Generalization in poetry (isn’t poetry just generalization?)
There isn’t a seat on the train, not for me anyway. A twenty-something with brown curls, denim jacket at her waist. White collars on lunch break, laughing in Teochew and English.
WordPress feed interrupted by message. Aunt discussing the exchange rate with mom (how many dollars is 390 yen?) How’s Japan? Family went cherry blossom viewing in Shinjuku… Blur of tunnel walls, still thinking about that book.
Reality like a knock on the glass pane. Change station…
barely scraped-together response to Day 4 of the
A-to-Z Challenge (sorry, I’ll try harder tomorrow.)
do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach
so goes the love song
of prufrock, self-imagined Hamlet; to be or not to be,
though that is a different question.
People often use the phrase ‘work up the nerve’ to do something.
If death is a return to stardust, and
the nameless god in every nerve and cell,
surely he has had some hand, some input
in the output of your programming, brain synapses,
from brain to heart to feeling-
All has culminated to this.
(or, in the words of LeBeouf,
just do it.)
in response to the daily post prompt
I’m love with, yet
Sick of this island, like a parent
I’d want to divorce her, her thinking is so different from mine
she made me sing her songs, yet
she will never accept me
But I am her mirror image, sometimes.
Stolen glances do more harm
Than good; turn up the radio, tv, whatev-
Don’t want the neighbors to hear-
Saxophone player, tv anchor,
Yakult swallows strikes out again
Sapphire eyes (not your hue)
Silent prayer (not for you),
Streams of light strain through thin curtains.
Strums of the guitar (not your fingers).
Prompt: Say Your Name
- has a religious connotation (yay!). My name basically dictates that I be a servant to our Father and bring him joy. Which I wouldn’t mind doing, except I don’t
or should I say can’t share the same sense of belonging to the religion I was born in as my family anymore.
- starts with ‘A’. (yup, Naomi isn’t my real name. Sorry.) Which means I’m always at the front of the class register. Always. I actually feel that this had a positive influence on me as I was forced to become more confident, outspoken, etc.
I wonder though, am I happy I was forced to be confident at an early age due to my personality, or is my personality due to being forced to be confident?
If our personality is shaped by our experiences, how much of our experiences are shaped by forces beyond our control? By the luck which runs like molten gold or computer system – pure mathematical variable?
In a parallel universe, how is my counterpart named Elizabeth or Samantha faring differently from me?
What effects do your name have on you?
The world is shrinking
Maybe I’ll catch you sipping coffee on a jazz walk in San Francisco, when we get sick of our respective islands;
Or capture you in a photograph by accident; tourist shot of the tower, locals in the background;
Or pass by you at a train station, each holding on to two kids by the cuffs,
And frowning, and old,
And drowning in words that can’t be said
In front of our husbands