 Content Rating Notice: May Contain Graphic Content
Only For: 18 and Older, Not Easily Offended
|
| (troubadour's paradise and treasure) Welcome to the troubadour's continuing world, his poetry and the folly he calls his life! | | by: | This item requires reviews with ratings.
|
|
| Item Size: 167 Entries
Created: 12:22pm on 12-30-2008
Modified: 12:32pm on 03-21-2010 | |
| |
|
 ![t.p.t banner [#1510116]
the new header for my new blog](http://imgsx.writing.com/main/images/action/display/item_id/1510116.jpg)
WELCOME, one and all
to the second volume of the troubadour's musings
(pictures into his soul)
evolution cannot tarry
new visions come starry-eyed
to everyone curious
enough to indulge
in fantasy and dreams
troubadours are muses
for the masses, singing
and frolicking gayly
although as the sunset wanes
I pray to the moon
the joy is always shared...
A HUGE THANKS to Carolina Blue  — may he rest in peace — for the Brand New Blue Ribbon he awarded this new humble demeure for my musings.
And here's a newly written tribute from our dear Thomas Harper  . Thanks so much, Thomas, Master Harper.
Master Cleaver
Alfred Booth twitters -- the whole world flitters
across the daunted page -- as though upon a stage
with words so rich with meaning -- of drama's din not weaning
never failing to enthrall -- right through the curtain call
© Thomas Harper
![Me, a couple of weeks ago [#1596867]
A latest portrait, taken in Lyons before the City Hall](http://imgsx.writing.com/main/images/action/display/item_id/1596867.jpg)
About the change in my penname. Here is what SummerLyn Guthrie wrote when gifting me my new name.
I think if I have changed my name...everyone else should too. I have been thinking about our dear brother, Alfred . Yesterday, I looked out and saw an Eagle while I was in thought. I feel Alfred is like this Eagle. His poems and his words are beautiful, and they fly smoothly across a page, as if it just comes natural for Alfred. When you see an Eagle flying, they soar so high. Places we can only imagine! And they see so much more than any other winged relation. It is said that the Eagle flies closest to the Creator, and the Creator protects our brother, and favors him. And so it is, that I want to honor our friend and brother, Alfred with a name of Wanbliska, which means White Eagle. "Wanbli" prounounced wan-blee meaning Eagle, and ska pronounced as it is spelled meaning white. I believe this suits Alfred well! What do you all think?!
My Blog |
|
sublimely ridiculous
Looks like I fell off the face of the earth. This week, I wish I had. I have the beginning pains of sciatica and since I cancelled my last appointment with the PT because of the thumb/elbow situation (I was no longer comfortable with the idea of his poking and plodding although my thumb IS better) I've suffered quite a bit more than I might have this past week. I don't have any pain in my legs, but the coccyx is real sore when I walk. Or limp. I'm too young to be old already!
reality
Friday the 19th was our choir concert in Paris. We rehearsed on the preceding monday and wednesday evenings, both rehearsals were absolute disasters. We have an entire bass section that seems to delect in the fact that they are amateurs and of course everyone knows amateurs make mistakes. They obviously decided to do so deliberately.
So monday I fumed and wednesday I expoded, and the rehearsal before the concert friday wasn't any better.
The concert itself was much better than I could have hoped, except for the few choice areas that they decided to sabotage.
The concert was well attended, and even Pierre came from Lyon to hear it. Of course, with all the extra rehearsing this week, I had to cancel students, most of which were placed on the schedule for yesterday - two of seven showed up. That's always a pleasure.
otherwise
It was in the low 70s until yesterday. Four days of sunny warm weather. The sun is still persistent between the clouds today, but there's a 20° drop between last evening and this afternoon. Why can't Mother Nature decide against playing with yo-yo's? It upsets everybody's morale, mine including.
paradise...
is a place
Or: Home Sweet Home.
Pierre left an hour ago. He needed to be at home to vote in the regional elections this evening. There are many communities here in France that are borderline with the extreme right-wing party and it's important to keep these people out of office where political compromise can be maintained. Usually it works.
This, of course, has nothing to do with paradise, but it was nice having him here this week-end, if not briefly.
dreams are for everyone
or "random acts of poetry"
Poetry? This week I've forgotten I know how to write. I've not even penned an idea. I've not revised anything - the project has gotten too gigantic, going over 10 years of poetry to select the better pieces. I've simply got to restrain myself to the ones written the most recently and too bad if I forget to include something that's just as worthy but temporarily lost in the limbo I've created by an apartment filled with unclassified papers.
Maybe an extempore piece about paper recycling?
mourning only through
colorful autumn and spring hues
trees die for words
we forget so easily, their wooded
skeletons too, shackled to our memories
like the rain forests
of our sun-filled childhoods
collectively abandoned
to enhance universal
best-seller lists
who pities
the words of the leaves
left unspoken, unheard?
tomorrow, when extinction sublimates
rare wood essences
who will remember the verse of mankind?
a slowly dying rhyme
[2010.21.3...a]
|
|
sublimely ridiculous
The same microwave needs to be cleaned thoroughly. I hate doing that. Tomorrow, the maintenance man comes for the furnace which is on the wall behind the refrigerator where the microwave thrones on top. It must be moved also, which is always hell on my back. No, I don't have the guts to ask the hired help to move it for me.
reality
Today my thumb feels OK, but I haven't started at the piano yet. Typing at the computer bothers my forearm because it rests on my desk as I type in that exact place reminding me of what the pain was like. But I can at least touch that area today without pain, so there is improvement. Long term improvement, I don't know. But short term seems to be working.
otherwise
I found one of my favorite poems last night. A piece from 2000. It needed a bit of editing which took a while. I have since forgotten the piece of John Dowland's music that inspired it, but does that really matter?
crystal weeping flees
the ethereal resonance
of melancholy organ pipes
on a cold dominical morning
say prayers for lost dolphins
circling majestically in capturing harbor
an outpouring of springtime tears
fill this cup with my hunger
my solitude
my passion unabating
your faraway presence
a renaissance yearning
dissonant harmonies catch the clouds
through rainbows of hope
love embraces madrigal song
eagles soar and plunge
in celestial rhythmic acrobatics
they follow the horizon —
a fisherman's loss —
homeward
dowland inspires
october first, 2000
Revision 13/3/2010
paradise...
is a place
I delved into another ten poems last night, most of which were written at the beginning of my relationship with Pierre. Reading through all of the poetry I've written is upsetting. There is often times so much potential among the pieces I am forced to discard that I'm frustrated not knowing how to maintain the spark that rendered a poem interesting while editing to make the most of it. I don't see what needs to be done, what is extraneous to the poem's progression or whatever else might need fixing.
Here's yet another poem written about THE love affair that scarred my soul. I wish I knew why.
midnight’s silver light heard us whisper
romantic gibberish
hand in hand the city was ours
a sensual kiss on the church steps
daring love, its spark
extinguished too soon
wax without a wick, dead candlelight
the promises you made
a rake’s deception
stabbed unimaginable pain through my heart
your adieu was my rendezvous at hell's gates
I grew bitter and forgetful
solitary armor against future loss
your treason became my derision
yet I have returned many times to your village
where our love once illuminated my life
each night the desperate chorus of the wolves
overwhelmed the waves crashing against the cliff
and I, submerged by the might of my anguish
I roared at the moon till dawn
roaring at the moon
19 april, 2006
Revision: 12/3/2010
I just discovered this is already a static item. I've included the revision there, and left the original text.
" roaring at the moon" 
|
|
sublimely ridiculous
MY favorite tea cup does NOT go in the microwave. Silver engraving sets off sparks. I was too lazy this morning to make a fresh pot of tea. Last night's reheated tea is not terribly tasty. Drinking green tea cold is always a nice solution, but not at nine a.m.
reality
MY PT found a new way to torture me yesterday. Actually, I asked him to look at my elbow and thumb. The two are the last problems in the chain of events my poor spine has created to balance itself. And to be honest, I've had problems with my right thumb since I was seventeen. So, in mid massage of my neck, I'm gabbering about how it felt the preceding day. Without warning, he grabbed hold of my elbow, planted his thumb I don't know where, and I screamed. Literally. He didn't stop. Nor did I. Stopped me in mid conversation when I was going to tell him, poetically, about" my neck muscles wednesday that were like..."
SCREAM.
Three or four minutes later.
"Tree Trunks. Even though you think they're relaxed this morning."
otherwise
My thumb was sore yesterday while at the piano, but it allowed me to do what I needed to do, even in the most powerful passages. It didn't wake me in throbbing pain during the night, which it does three or four nights per week. But this morning, anything that exerts pressure on my elbow, still makes IT throb.
But, since I have a choir concert next Friday, I've got to get my thumb into shape.
paradise...
is a place
I receive "Poets and Writers." I realize that in order to submit any full-length manuscript I need to start organizing my poetry and making a list of those poems which I think are among the most worthy. I have a lot of trash.
So, the other night I started with my folder (huge and it covers only four months) of printed poems from 2006.
Here's one of ten that meets my first set of requirements.
Now, what do you all think?
no, the shadow under the door is not yours
the melodious voice on the phone,
apologizing gently for the wrong number, is not yours,
no, don't hang up, I need to hear the seduction in your voice...
though after twenty years I would still recognize it
were it yours, sometimes
a silhouette seems familiar
the would-be grace of your gait
your height, the broadness of your shoulders
I remember your every gesture, generosity
animated conversations, moonlight silences
the sensations of your lips, the fire of your smile
the intimate connection of our love
the motion-picture of our life, briefly stamped in time's reality
is vivid every night that I grace the arms of another
though more and more I sleep with my memories
why is it that I have never forgotten you?
I have forgotten none of you...
old lovers
5 march, 2006
dreams are for everyone
or "random acts of poetry"
I haven't been dreaming. Oh, I daydream about seeing my name in print. Just like I daydreamed for years that I'd see my name on the billboard at Carnegie Hall. Sometimes I wonder just how much I truly delude myself...
But here's a bit of a dream-come-true from someone else's POV. Also a selection for publishable items.
so she spends his money
that's what mid-life third wives do
with their unsuspecting husbands
accustom them to luxury
sexy lingerie and champagne
femme fatale seduction
though he chose no beauty queen this time
she must possess carefully covered assets
many wonder how she works her brainwashing
for it was an easy step to yearly Caribbean cruises
and hotels for the rich in all the frilly places
on week-end jaunts for shopping
that he ordinarily would have avoided
accustomed to mail-order catalogue simplicity
so there are more bills to be paid
her way of life to sustain
a woman's pleasure is everything
if she's nice to you at night
then the first mortgage was renegotiated
afterwards the second became necessary then
a country house too big for just two
but what will the friends think
just two guest bedrooms?
too bad that there won't be anything
left over for the children
those brats to be tolerated
from the other marriage, the one that left an impact
but then it's so easy to lead a man into excess
if his brain works only during hormonal overflow
and the kids are grown and yes, living, alas
too far from the snazzy golf courses
where she drinks margaritas
put on my husband's bill, please
the third wife
17 january, 2006
|
|
sublimely ridiculous
Ended up going back to the hardware store to see about blinds for my bedroom. Nothing available in two-meter lengths. So I don't feel too badly about the purchases of last week-end. On my way to the choir rehearsal this evening, after seeing my therapist, I'll check out the place the original blinds were purchased.
My furnace is having a hard time keeping up with the cold - frigid winds from the north-east are making it hard to heat the apartment comfortably. It's been three years since I put in the new furnace and it's never been cleaned since. My fault probably. Since I've dragged my feet about this situation for months now, what's a little bit longer? Although the negative wind-chill factors are supposed to last all week.
reality
I have done a good job of organizing my apartment in the past two weeks. There's still a lot to be done, but I'm pleased with my efforts and pleased that I didn't throw in the towel. Ended up buying a new compact Hoover vacuum as my old one was just not cleaning as I had needed. Almost all the apartment has been vacuumed — in spite of what doing so does to my back — and only the back room needs to be done but it was done last month. I've eliminated most of the piles of scores, books and poetry folders that were on the floor leaning against walls, and have installed plastic storage boxes in my bedroom above the wardrobe. Looks like a college student's bedroom, but it's a start and a solution until I can have the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling wardrobe custom built into my bedroom.
I start teaching tomorrow, and we have a choir concert friday the 19th. I did not allow the proper amount of time to look at scores to select exam pieces that must be distributed to the students next week. That'll be my project for this week-end.
otherwise
Pierre was here briefly (36 hours) on a trip from Lyon to Bahrain. I took him out saturday noon to celebrate his birthday which was last month - the first time since I've know him that I was unable to be in Lyon to celebrate it. He was pleased. We had champagne at the house. I doubt he will stop through Paris on his return trip back home - has has important meetings the next day and won't want to take a train at seven in the morning from Paris. I wouldn't either. Getting too old for that sort of stuff.
paradise...
is a place
Paradise would be a new poem or two. I feel completely written out. Nothing more to say, nor the desire to say it. Even though I seem to have a way with words, they rarely come out in a manner that is satisfactory to me; I rarely have the impression that they really say what I want them to say.
Blogsville is a place many of us frequent, but lately it's not been very attractive either. Maybe everybody has decided that their own lives have a lot more paradise in them than blogsville has to offer lately. Lots of time between entries, and even our dear Zack is no longer blogging daily. I have the feeling that this year more and more members of WDC will become inactive or ex-members.
I'm content that the sun is shining once again, but the bitter wind keeps me indoors and not venturing too far from the house. Besides, all the nice parks to explore are places I already know. And I know myself well enough that if I explore the forests near Paris, I get hopelessly lost.
And even my heart is feeling closed off lately. Am having second thoughts about whether a cat will help melt it a bit...
|
|
sublimely ridiculous
The French tend to close themselves in at night. Most apartments and houses have outdoor shutters. Right now mine are closed because there's a tropical storm, named Xynthia (which is probably fancy French-speak for Cynthia!) and the winds are supposed to be at 85mph. But normally I let the indoor window coverings give me my intimacy at night. Except for the back room where the gaps between the window panes and the window frame are so large that when it's cold outside I need the extra protection of the shutters beyond.
But that's not why I'm talking about window shutters.
Inside one always has a choice of curtains or venetian blinds, which is my option.
In three rooms their ten years of age is showing - the fourth room needs to be replaced, because I never liked the cheap look of what I ended up buying, but that will wait another month or so. Either the mechanism closing the slats is broken as is the case on one of the two binds in the back room, and I've been unable to fix it myself, or there are other various problems due to age that I'm not enough of a handyman to figure out how to repair myself.
So, yesterday I go out to the local hardware store (Castorama for Holly's information) and buy venetian blinds for two of my rooms. Since my windows are "French" windows, I have one blind attached to each panel of the window. I remembered, naturally, to remind myself of the width. More on that later.
I get to Castorama, discover that they have a decent selection of metal-slatted blinds, but nothing in wood, like I have in my back computer room. OK, I tell myself "it's time for a change." I decide even on cloth blinds in a rich bordeaux for the back room instead of wood. Look for the proper width, find it, take little notice of the length, thinking that the standard 180 centimeters will do nicely.
I find a pair of nice yellow metal slatted blinds to replace the grimy ones in the kitchen, select two fluorescent light bulbs for the bathroom and above the kitchen sink, and head for a checkout lane.
Get there.
There is problem with one of the fluorescent tubes - the bar code won't register, so she has to type in the numbers manually.
THEN the charge card machines in the entire store peeter out for five minutes. She tells me I owe her 51 euros. Half of what I expected, but I really didn't pay attention to how much the cloth blinds sold for.
The card machine finally accepts my card, I type in my pin number, retrieve my receipt and flee the store as discreetly as I can.
Outdoors I check the receipt to find out her error. Somehow, only one of each type of blind got itself recorded by her scanner device even though she undoubtedly heard the "beep" telling her it had been accepted. Unless because I smiled sweetly at her she decided to flirt a bit and didn't listen for the tell-tale beeps. So she saved me 39 euros by her machine's incompetence.
Now, I get home and start my DIYing. I decide that the new bordeaux color in the back room will brighten my spirits for the evening, so I start there. To cut the rest of the story short, I should have taken note of the length. I'm short 10 centimeters!
Now, you'll say, like Pierre did, "well take them back!" Can't do because I have no proof of purchase for the second of each set of blinds. But to be honest, I didn't see a huge variety of lengths. 180 centimeters is a standard window length, but I forgot that none of my windows are standard sized. Had I measured both dimensions, like I did ten years ago when I bought the initial blinds, I would have at least come home empty handed or with another color choice at the proper length.
DRATS!!
reality
The psoriasis is being controlled better now; my dermatologist's secretary said there was a three week wait, and since my doctor was not in the office that morning, I could not speak directly to him to find out if and when he could squeeze me into his appointment book. My general practitioner has open visits on a first-come-first-serve basis every afternoon, and I thought at least he'd be able to give me something to slow down the bacterial secondary infection. So I made no appointment with the dermatologist and saw the GP who was aghast at the extent of the damage in just 10 day's time.
otherwise
Otherwise? I haven't yet found new dishes. I don't know of second hand stores close to me like SummerLyn suggested, and I've been to three stores already where I know the prices are OK. Here in France we do not have Walmarts, K-Marts, Target or Walgreens, etc. like most major cities in the States.
BUT I did decide to spend that extra money I "saved" at the hardware store. I even went overboard.
Spending money on iTunes is so easy. I recently discovered the piano music of American composer John Adams. "China Gates" and "Phyrgian Gates", to be precise. I bought myself two versions of them, and have bookmarked a third, which is on YouTube. Then I thought, "John Adams. He rings a bell. Yes! Nixon in China." That wasn't available on iTunes and I had to go to Nonesuch in order to find the original cast version. For €29 I bought the CDs box which will be delivered to the house PLUS the MP3 version which I downloaded last evening. Then this morning, first thing, I went back and decided on another one of Adam's operas - "A flowering Tree." I liked the title! And the music is lovely.
Here's "China Gates" by the italian pianist Emanuele Arciuli
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgZT6uymrXs&feature=channel
And because SummerLyn featured Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars," which I only have as a single, I decided to buy the rest of the album, Eyes Open.
All in all, I spend much more than the money I supposedly saved. But I'm a sucker for new music.
|
|
sublimely ridiculous
It's been a while, hasn't it?
My banana tree has aphids again. Nine days ago the plant was healthy. The new leaf is finally completely unrolled and yesterday when organizing the plants in the back room, I discovered the visitors had returned again. They seem to like the new, tender leaves as they unfurl. There are no other plants in the house that attract these bugs, so I don't understand. The first cleansing with bug spray eliminated them for over two weeks.
I left my e-mail project at 475 e-mails. OK, I got rid of over three hundred. It was, if you'll remember, up to 788.
One day I'll get back to it.
reality
I'm on holiday. Every year we have two weeks at this time of year in order to fill up the ski resorts and help that particular part of the French economy survive. I do not ski. Fear of falling.
So, I'm on vacation with another bout of psoriasis on my inner right thigh, which means walking is painful. Thus I limp, which does nothing for my fragile pelvis which is shifted to the right once again, exerting more pressure on my hip, thus adding a different pain to walking.
I've started the cat-proofing on my apartment, but it's a huge project and I don't know if I'll have the energy to do everything that's needed. The friend with a big car I hoped would help me buy a glass cabinet is away for the entire two weeks with her married boyfriend. Translate - probably not a cat in the near future.
I'm also trying to finish my poem " between mother and son" by alfred booth, wanbli ska  . NovaCatherine and ZimbabweSarah have both given me interesting reviews, although Sarah did not see the latest revision. She feels the piece needs very few changes; Cat seems to agree with me that the piece could be clearer, especially if I want it to be readable for a large audience. I've been working on it off and on for almost four years now.
otherwise
Otherwise? I hurt, I'm restless, I won't be going to Lyon. I've bitten off more than I can chew, nothing unusual.
I fixed the toilet again. Actually, I couldn't fix it, so I went out an bought a new part. The floater mechanism got broken somehow in the closed atmosphere of a toilet tank. Second time in three years. The water is particularly hard here, but that's not uncommon for many parts of the world. Do all of you have to replace floater mechanisms every three years?
I broke another salad plate, the one that had been glued already. I'm tired of my old dishes and want to go out and buy new ones. Yet something else to do on another rainy day. Yes, it's been rainy. Teeny tiny drops, mist really, that gets you wet eventually. The temperature is spring-like, which means I must trim back dead branches on the bonsais this week before the warmer weather forces the buds to swell. Yet another important thing to add to my VirtualToDoList this week. But I like taking care of the trees, so it'll be a matter of just being willing to get wet!
paradise...
is a place
Where would I go if I had lots of money and really wanted to take a holiday? Iceland. Tropical islands. Actually, I'd take a month off, pay someone to teach in my place, and go somewhere calm, like Kåre in Costa Rica, and vegetate and replenish my energy levels. Would I go alone? No. But Pierre is so damned busy. Maybe I should start slow by going back to the movies instead of renting DVDs when I want to see anything. I mean, escape is escape. I don't drink and I don't do drugs, not even nicotine. So what else is there for me?
A new ToyBoy you'll ask? With a nasty patch of psoriasis close to the family jewels? One look and he'd say YUCK! Get me out of this place!
I wish I were less dissatisfied. I don't ask for much, really.
dreams are for everyone
or "random acts of poetry"
Ah, there's a new poem (or two) posted in my P.(tree)Log. Today's is here: " another poem with another of Cupid's arrows"
I'm off for a hot shower to relax my back. Heat aggravates psoriasis, so my thigh will suffer.
|
|
sublimely ridiculous
Don't know why I put my banana tree in this section of the blog. It's putting up it's third healthy leaf and the aphids are completely gone.
I've spent two hours (and two really sore shoulders already) going through 100 e-mails in the 788 that I have accumulated in my inbox, the earliest of which date from March of 2009. In them I have already discovered 6 reviews of poems that did not get prompt responses and I fear that there will be more. Although the majority is blog comment banter, if I've kept something after one or two exchanges, it meant I intended to comment further at the time the exchange was part of my current affairs on WDC.
But it's inexcusable not to answer a review. What a heel I must seem like to those of you who don't know me well/at all.
reality
Decided temporarily that a pure-bred cat is out of my financial limit for the time being, especially since I want to purchase an iPad when they arrive in France. So, I'll adopt one, if I can find one I like and who likes me.
BUT before doing so, I need to catproof my apartment. I do not like the idea of broken nick-knacks and broken plants can always be cut back to start new ones (I forgot how to say that properly in English, so you'll just have to follow my train of thought the best you can.) But I have many plants high on top of the piano or bookshelves that might be interesting for a cat to climb, thus offering him/her the possibility of creating a falling disaster.
So, I must buy a glass case to show off all my pretties, and figure out a way to anchor the plants so that they can't be tipped over by a jumping cat.
THEN I must undergo a completely thorough house-cleaning, under and over everything, so that when I get cat-hair all over the place I can clean regularly to keep the apartment decent.
I figure all of this will take me a good month of activity — if I can get my ass moving. I've two weeks of Ski Holiday vacation and it's not evident that I'll be going to Lyon, so I'll try to begin this project then with the hopes of adopting a cat in the next few months.
Hopes. Like Wish Lists (I just started one at Amazon!) they keep me going.
otherwise
Yesterday I added AwardIcons to two items here on WDC.
and
Both are, in my humble opinion, worth discovering.
paradise...
is a place
I'm not a Valentine's Person any longer. Although I did send out a few to WDC friends this morning. Sorry if you wanted one and didn't get one. (Oh, am I the recipient of someone's Unrequited Love? Oh my...) My relationship with Pierre is too strange for us to have proper anything. In the twelve years I've known him, I've spent only one Valentine's Day with him. This year I will even miss his birthday which is on the 16th, because our school snow holiday is too late this year.
In corresponding with Peach   about his haiku and his continuing progress in expanding the rather limited boundaries of the haiku form (he writes one a day and has done so for many months now; they are often featured in the Sponsored Items) he inspired the following text. It is one of three, the two others being a modern haiku and a traditional one. All three are in my P.(tree)Log; the are all different takes on the same idea.
stately elm branches
a lonely sentinel
for snow fall and red paper hearts
that decorate its nakedness
a child's valentine cheer
otherwise
a dreary february horizon
[2010.14.2...a]
Taken from " Valentine's Day"
|
|
reality
I did,yesterday evening while thinking of my new poem's problems, manage to update my two Excel Spreadsheets for my monthly finances. Hadn't done anything since late december.
I also got caught up late in a FarceBrook game! I went to bed too late. Didn't sleep well. I made my best score within ten minutes and then spent another hour trying to best it. Never did!
As it's the beginning of the month and I've been slightly (OK, real depressed...) I went out and did a bit of shopping. The local FNAC where I buy CDs, books and accessories for my iPhone (the Paris Apple Store is just not worth the crowds unless you want to buy a computer) and bought a dock for the iPhone so I can use it as a wake-up light and see the nice pretty clock I got yesterday in motion all the time. I found SEVEN CDs at a special price, 27€ which is around $35, a true bargain. The Bridge over Troubled Water album by Simon and Garfunkle, A 3-CD set of songs by French singer George Brassesns, The Vivaldi Mandolin and luth concerti, The Best of the Beach Boys and a wonderful fun Klaus Nomi "best of."
Amazon UK has Phillips SAD lights on sale but they can't ship them to France. In France such items are never placed on sale.
Oh well!
The Saint Louis Club
I started looking about cats. I want either a Chartreux or a Maine Coon. Yeah, I know I said that yesterday.
MCs are furry and friendly like I like but they are large cats and my tiny apartment is probably too tiny for their stature. PLUS there's a huge waiting list and none of the breeders place on their internet sites the prices of kittens. And since I don't have a car, it'll be difficult finding the breeders outside of the Paris metropolis. In the country elsewhere in France, the prices will probably be lower. But you've got to see the kittens to choose wisely and well.
I once had a less than purebred Chartreux and she was wonderful. So I'm thinking. A lot.
Wrote a strangely formatted sonnet last evening that no one has yet discovered over in my P.(tree)Log. Or maybe everyone did and it was so bad no one bothered commenting!!!!!!!!!
I stand corrected at this very minute. Catherine of NovaKatmandu Land just sent me a lovely quote and a note about said sonnet.
"My relationship with cats has saved me from a deadly, pervasive ignorance."
- William S. Burroughs
I definitely do NOT feel like a writer lately. Nor wise like Mr. Burroughs, although if you've gotta die, might as well be from ignorance... Yeah, that was real easy.
|
|
reality
I've rarely been out of sorts like I have been this past week. The only thing that gets me interested is teaching, and expanding the relationships I have with my students. I intend no offense with the following, but lately I'm less and less satisfied by the virtual world and in greater need of flesh and blood relationships. But I don't know how to go about that.
The Saint Louis Club
No writing, no editing, no checking things off the various mental lists I carry around with me. I'm a full month late keeping my finances in my Excel Spreadsheet, and although I know I've got plenty of money in the bank, I've got to start saving for the new iPad that I want to buy when it comes out.
I'm stuck editing a certain poem, and all creativity seems at a complete stand-still as a result. So often when I can't edit like I want, all of my creativity gets jambed up. I'm not sure this is writer's block. Merely wanting to finish a project before starting something else (I have hundreds of poems in need of another tweak before I can really do anything with them other than place them here on WDC. I mean seeking publishing, naturally.) and not knowing how to get out of the rut I've created for myself.
Am still enamored of my iPhone and all the toys I have for it, but I can't cuddle up to it at night, and it doesn't talk back to me when I need conversation.
Maybe I need a cat. But I want a pure bred - either a Chartreuse or a Maine Coon — and don't have the money for one. I almost adopted a stray cat in the street while in Paris the other day, but as healthy as he looked, he probably was just an uncollared pet.
My biorhythm says my emotional mood is on the upswing. I don't believe it! And my back has been killing me and the biorhythm says it's been a good period for my physical health in the last week.
BALDERDASH!!!!!!!!
|
|
reality
Migraines. Insomnia, even with Pierre present.
The three are probably connected, but I don't want to go into that labyrinth right now. We did have a nice week-end together, pain and sleeplessness notwithstanding, and week-end headaches are usual, whether I'm alone or not. Today I've got to keep myself busy. Which means at the piano a bit to tidy up two scores I need to play better for the choir's progress this evening; keeping my Expense Spread-sheet up-to-date, which I have not at all done this year, and trying to get back to work on my 2006 poem "between mother and son." Which is currently set on "For My Eyes Only"', so don't go looking for it.
The Saint Louis Club
A homage here to my sister, who recently wrote the following which arrived in my various e-amilboxes.
Yes, life does have a way of getting in the way - way too much!! Though I know new year resolutions usually fall by the way side, and it's been some years since I've even tried to hold any resolutions, but this year I am. One of them is to try to not let life get in the way - to not let the tyranny of the urgent rule. Since you wrote on the 14th and it is now the 27th, I am not doing too well... BUT, one thing I have found. When one tries to change something about oneself (a habit, character flaw, etc.) it seems (at least with me...) progress goes backwards before it goes forwards. It seems that the more one concentrates on what one doesn't want to do, the more one does it. SO... Since I am aware of this, I am deciding not to get discouraged when I see that my footprints are facing backwards, but rather continue working at turning those footprints around to face forward. Perseverance.
Well, that profound bit of wisdom comes free of charge to you this morning...
She inspired the following poem, which probably should be in my P.(tree)Log, but what the heck!
clad in snowshoes, I find myself
leaving backwards footprints
somehow, a child’s game like
the deep trace of angel wings
that spread towards tomorrow’s sunshine
I'm stuck here, a decoration
in today’s massive snow drifts
impatient to head in a single direction
my heart points forward, my feet
are still content to leave prints in yesterday’s path
gaily I steal words from shimmering snowfall
pretending to be a turquoise shepherd
reflecting infinity’s songs
in the clanging of bells — where do my sheep follow?
there is no single path from the mountain’s pinnacle
to the valley’s farmland, sometimes we retrace
steps in a confusing to-and-from dance
playing with refrains from then and now
each dream is an oasis
and I a Bedouin leading camels
under the bewitched shadows deep
beneath palm trees — I am wise
I follow words already spoken
mixing the sun’s rays with moonshine
sometimes too drunk on the beauty of sound
to realize that it doesn’t matter
if my feet take me in undestined directions
the wind blows and the sand piles up
in eastern dunes tomorrow, the same grains
veer to the north, or the south
my heart, following its holiday trail,
is content to wander
this way or that,
for the wind teaches subtle lessons
in the desert’s ever-changing waves
and even where I left myself dreaming
a few minutes ago, in the arms of a snow angel
I made with my turquoise overcoat…..
footprints
[2010.27.1…a]
For Annie
| |
|
Offsite Blogs
But like most Americans, I create too much waste...
