Zīles ziņa

Kas sit pie vārtiem šorīt gulēt gribu.
Aizraudāta acs lec saule mākoņos lai mazais brālis jāj
lai kumeļam nav grūti.
Nē smejas kara kungs.
Un tik vien paliek: mētelis to auzu skara tā cepture to
zirņu ziedu paiet gadu daudz.

slouching to the east

Call it a spot of bad luck, a crisis of the corporeal body, an emergent clumsiness erstwhile concealed in the obscure depths of my personhood and being — I have been involved in far too many minor accidents, of late. I spilt Korean tea all over my desk, had my shaving razor slip to slice my fingertip, scalded my hands with near-boiling water, and soon I shall expect to trip over a small student-child while teaching in school. They are tiny but consequential. 

Running parallel to these incidents of maladroitness is the strangely foul mood I have been in for the entire month. Well maybe not foul, just a general grumpy feeling that I will shrug off as symptoms of dehydration and mercury poisoning. 

Also: I want to use this space to congratulate everyone who's currently in Europe making snowballs while I am being rained upon by truly half-assed monsoons that only last for one weekend.

Also: I know my parents love me and etc. but they are going to spend two vacations in a row (to faraway lands that make accessorising with scarves a necessary part of everyday life) without me and this reveals how they trivialise my separation anxiety issues + desire to be free + desire to get a billion more desires granted.

Also: It has dawned on me that I made my own birthday cake and finished it all by myself and then felt bad about hogging it which is a clear indication of the direction my life is going (alcoholism). Should I distract myself with other bad habits? e.g. feigning Tourette's?

I need to write better. If writing is a muscle then I am currently an airy cupcake with silly frosting/dense gluten-free muffin with quinoa flour and popped amaranth. 

self esteem: a new haiku

FML FM
L FML FML
FML FM

technology

I am 21 and my maid* is back with delicious Pinoy snacks, and I am** in the kitchen inhaling Vietnamese coffee (a vanilla spiciness, the sticky-sweet milk pooling at the bottom of the glass) and reading** Henry Miller's essays, and my friends are dispersed around the globe, and I am at home, and all is well.***

* I wanted to say "domestic helper" but it's not politically correct to discredit the dignity that being a maid entails. It is an honorable profession that only the brave take up, I guess.

** Obviously I should be using "was" but in using the present-continuous tense I am trying to achieve the effect of being "in the moment," of that immediacy of feeling that I have just undermined by calling into artifice the notion of writing about experience.

*** Is all well? Most are well. Not everything is "well" but it's not fruitful to discuss the well-ness of everything. 

northern

I want to sit cross-legged in a room with a carpet and a cat, with stucco walls, listening to Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme in a wistful way not unlike a character in a Wes Anderson film — speaking of which, I remember forgetting to watch Moonrise Kingdom and this reminds me of every failure from the past ~8 months.

I want to be friends with Yoko Ono. I want to be like, "Hey Yoko could you get this for me" on Facebook chat, while sending her pictures of art.

I want to know how it feels like to have every dream come true, including the nightmares. 

I want to be, like, "blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth" every day while making Vietnamese coffee. 

I want to feel holidays, not just have them.