Sep 26, 2008

To catch up: a passim

At the house where I live there is a Momma and a Poppafamilias, a white dog, a Spinet, bare feet and gardens, and six other variations of me.

At the house where I stay there lives a good Doctor, his wife and his pipe, two princess puppies, one of the prettiest pianos in the world, and a quiet blue pool outside.

I don't get to be where I live very much. The house where I stay is not home. And I am getting used to this, which is one of the six or seven feelings one year ago I never thought I would feel.

*

Last night we went to the St. Louis Symphony, some of us because it counted as credit and some because we hadn't been since we were very little which was when we were allowed to be very little and to care more than the music, that we got to sit next to a lady we loved. Last night I heard Yefim Bronfman play the Rachmaninoff 3rd piano concerto and it was more beautiful than anything in the world and by now I know better than to think it was silly of me but I sat there in the dimness of the hall with my face bathed in tears because it was everything I wanted. It was everything I wanted.
When it was very late and I got back to the house where I stay, I was filled up with music and I couldn't fall asleep for hours because the soul of that night had made mine so gentle and awake, like candles.

-
In other news:
Fall left for a while and is coming back next week. 60s. I love my scarves.

-

I haven't written because so many things are coming up on me. October is going to be half gone before I see it. Recital this, concert that, Competition. I have a teacher now. I have practiced so much my hands ache to practice some more. I've been discouraged and afraid and hopeful and the closest to confident yet, in that order. I have a teacher now. I felt very stupid at first and quiet and then very small and trusting at the piano next to hers, all of which I need to feel to grow.

*

Well, I have written actually. Stuff. Like PAPERS. I hate papers. I'm supposed to be writing a paper right now. I'm not good at writing papers. I can't write papers on a schedule because I get hung up. I get hung up on one word, every time, because usually it seems to me that the choice between that word and another word make all the difference.
Besides, I always think of things I'm supposed to say here in the morning when I'm looking at my face in the mirror. By the time I get to school and I do have something to write, I have to do it in the library and I try to avoid actually having do something serious in the library because I can never concentrate properly between all The Jamaicans that think the library is an appropriate place to ask me out. The Jamaicans are long story, one of the ones that it would take longer than a while to actually catch up on. What's happening? 500 things, I feel the same and way, way different. Presently I am needing to find a balance to my schedule. Let me illustrate

:

College.

1) Good grades
2) Social life
3) Sleep

Someone very wise told me I have to pick two.

But, lest we forget, coffee.

TBC

Sep 9, 2008

Hello

Right now I am sitting barefoot on a tall chair in the school library. Before I was here I was sitting barefoot on the school swing under the school trees and before that I was walking barefoot on a few crunchy school leaves along a row of school trees and for the first time was feeling like I do at home. Because this is my homeweather* (see Important Neologistical Footnote). Almost always when September comes I like to land and breathe, and almost always also observe curiously a poignant gentle sadness and joy/longing that seems to be reserved in my head for this period of time between today and the cold. It's fall, now. The whole meaning of the air is autumn. You have to have felt what I feel to know what I mean, but it is the first day when you can look out a window and tell it's here. Something in the light; brighter, crisper? You have to have seen what I see to know what I'm saying, that the light of a season is distinct to itself, its very own colour and idea. Autumn light is clear, and thin and sharp like the first bite of an apple.

I thought I should also say that maybe sometime soon I'll write things. A million shapes have changed, inside and around me but a million more haven't. The weather still starts turning after summer and I still go all crazy happy and want to tell someone about it. People ask me what I want to do and I still say music, because I still think that explains everything.


-

* Important Neologistical Footnote:

Homeweather is kind of like homeboy/girl/fry/slice, only slightly more atmospherical

Aug 12, 2008

christina

_
Chain Stir
An Itch, Sir
Sat Rich In
His Tin Car
I Hint Scar
Char in Its
Inch Star, I
Can Hit, Sir
Rich Saint
Is Arc Thin


_


well
what's in your name?

how the air must feel in the space between words

Today is one week before my first classes. I don't know what to do with it yet. I've been scared then excited then jittery then smart then doubtful then flighty then shy then everything then nothing and at this point time better just go by quick because I'm starting around the circle all over again. Today is only three days before I go and stay away from my family for the first time for the first time for the first time in a long time or ever. Now that you feel sorry for me it's just for one night. Small steps. I think I should stop writing so much about myself. It must be bad for the environment. Unfortunately it's pretty much all I do here. That's why I like this place. It's got a lot of me and somehow I still like it. And now that I have to get all bizzy bizzy, I don't know what will happen to it. Will someone take over for me? All you have to do is say I a lot and put some verbs nouns and lots of lovely adjectives in front of it and throw in a few pictures of a white dog and bam you're a SUB BLOGGER, poorly paid but strangely pleased. Anybody? You probably know more about it than I do. Which is hard to believe, I know.

Aug 11, 2008

Naptime


*


To each their own.
Ever since the slumber party 3 year olds spent the morning pounding their sticky fists on it, my Spinet sounds lightheaded and on the verge of falling out of tune again. The fifth octave especially is beginning to sound super jangly. These are the moments I think I will only have 12 kids instead of thirteen and absolutely none of them will ever be three years old, because that is the age when you don't even think about stopping them when they're ruining your beautiful instrument because they're cute, just so evil and cute. I have been practicing Debussy on it anyway, for a long time, la fille aux cheveaux de lin - The Girl with the Flaxen hair, which has always been my favorite that I forget about, until I play it and hear it and it reminds me once again of someone that I can never quite put my finger on and I'm not sure but I think it's the someone I want to be.

Aug 10, 2008

When something is wrong with my baby, oh
something is wrong with me

Isaac Hayes

Aug 9, 2008

I don't feel like watching the Olympics

Honestly, I'm not sure it wouldn't be a brilliant idea to have the Opening Ceremony at the end of everything or at least somewhere in the middle. Seriously. Would you broadcast four hours of pure distilled amazingness and then tell people now get really excited because we are going to watch volleyball? No, you wouldn't. We are only human beings and it is boring. You'd think someone would catch this.
I thought I should whine that all today my eyes burn and I don't want to clean up other people's messes or take vitamins or do much of anything even that I want to do. A little while ago I tried to nap and I slept for about eleven minutes and had about that many dreams right after each other until one when I was stepping where there was no step and my whole body fell right down le gasp onto my very own bed and I woke up and realized a few things. Namely, that a) there was a blue HOT WHEELS® car sticking me right in the back and my pillow smelled quite certainly of diapers, b)I was cold, and c) the handyman in the bathroom across the hall was talking to himself again. The first two items are explained easily enough by the fact that a bunch of three year olds had a sleepover party in my bed last night, a party apparently complete with mini car races sticky fingers and poop, while I curled up in the basement and got a chill and four hours of sleep. The third is different. Besides the fact that the handyman is not very handy, nobody trusts him much. People's history follows them in this house. I'm undecided. He doesn't make me nervous but the fact that I can't figure him out, does. He did admit the night I torched the trash to being fascinated by fire, which gives him tentative points in my little book of observed people. Most of the day he mutters and hammers and sometimes screws something up and says OH FFFF....iddlesticks... and at least all the three year olds aren't around anymore to hear such shocking language and I don't mind a lot. Not like my bathroom hasn't been my rehab center before. Which sounds weird. In other news, it's gold outside.

Aug 8, 2008

Today I feel like this


And I just don't want to talk about it.

Aug 4, 2008

Nothing happened

So now I go running the dirt roads every morning I can, and I walk with Kiddy around and under the hanging peach trees and then we stop at the barn and I make him stand while I brush his white smooth coat from his nose to his tail and he likes it and I say, I will be here to run with you.

I haven't thought much about writing. Nothing happened. It rained and filled up the ground. Our uncle drank himself to the hospital. We waded barefoot down the wide shale creek. The sun came and it got hot. I listened to baseball. I missed a lot. I couldn't help it.

So now I sit at my piano and feel covered in my perfect music shaped bubble because I don't have to hear or tell or remember anything but this. And I wish I wish I wish you could feel exactly what it is, this golden ageless pain that shines right on my inside that is all mine and yet not about me, because I can't say it. You I guess would have to be me to feel it and for my part I don't wish that on anyone for too long.

I got angry and bored and made my heart too nervous to write. Nothing happened. I created some drama until it was real. It was a part of me and I didn't know much without it. I broke with the wind and the concern was crippling. I looked down and up. I decided I wouldn't grow up without God.

So now I don't want to be any farther from home than the runaway trails or the river because from there I could always come back. I can still always come back. But they were home too. This, is not. Though human beings, they adapt. But we who aren't always make big deals out of things that aren't. You can see why I have to tell my head shut up just to get any sleep.