Today was just one of those cliched "lazy sundays," where absolutely nothing gets done...and you don't really give a shit. You know? Which is not to say that I didn't try. But what with the crummy weather (and you all know by now that I'm really big on weather influencing my mood...seasonal affect disorder, anyone?) and the fluffy comfort of my down blanket, I just didn't have it in me to do much today. I did stumble upon a wonderful blog, though. It's called The Photodiarist, and it's full of the most compelling images of New York I've ever seen. I know I talk about New York and being a New Yorker a lot, but it's really such an ever-evolving experience and existence. To think that all these people, places and things have sprung up to co-exist in such a compact physical space continues to amaze and thrill me. I love New York, and I love that this is where I call home.
October 18, 2009
October 15, 2009
el proceso de escribir
I've been thinking a lot about writing -- the processes involved, the content, sources of inspiration, fluidity of words, etc. Words have always been my mainstay, my source of comfort. When I was young, I wasn't always able to express myself verbally with the same confidence that everyone around me just naturally seemed to possess. I was shy, self-aware, all caught up in this bilingual battle raging on in my head. And so I turned to the written word to speak. In my youthful naivete, I used to believe that what I was saying on paper -- in essays, short stories, even blogs -- was a direct transcript of my personal thoughts and ideas. But in recent years, I've begun to realize that this actually isn't true at all. I've realized that the same self-awareness that haunted my formative years has unconsciously remained with me all this time.
Sometimes I find myself writing with other people in mind, with the concept of this "other" as my audience. And as a result of this self-imposed dialogue, I end up shaping my writing to conform with what I think my audience wants to hear. Hell, I might even be doing it as we speak. I don't think I've ever actually written in a public sphere (i.e. in this here blog) for the sole purpose of writing, of expressing a real individual thought. It's always been a means to an end, a passing entertainment for my so-called readers. It's only within the safe confines of my journals that I've ever really felt like myself, that I'm ever able to write with complete and utter creative abandon.
The Creative Writing in Spanish course I've been taking this semester has really forced me to re-evaluate my writing skills and methods. It's totally back-to-basics, and I love it. Poetry writing is admittedly difficult and mind-numbingly tedious, but I'm secretly reveling in rediscovering "me," the poetic voice I never knew I possessed. Yes, my poetry has been at times both contrived and disgustingly trite, but I'm glad to have an excuse to start from scratch again. Not going to lie, it feels really great.
In a perfect world, myexhalation would be my own forum, my personal sounding board where I get to hear myself talk, and where my other "selves" would respond in critique. A round table of sorts. But, of course, that most trusted and omnipresent enemy of mine -- my own damned self-awareness -- makes this a seemingly impossible thing to achieve. Nevertheless, it's a state of mind that I am continually working towards. When the words flow with the same ease as they do in the privacy of my journals, when both mind and pen are thinking and feeling in the most perfect of synchronizations...that's when I'll know I'm there.
Sometimes I find myself writing with other people in mind, with the concept of this "other" as my audience. And as a result of this self-imposed dialogue, I end up shaping my writing to conform with what I think my audience wants to hear. Hell, I might even be doing it as we speak. I don't think I've ever actually written in a public sphere (i.e. in this here blog) for the sole purpose of writing, of expressing a real individual thought. It's always been a means to an end, a passing entertainment for my so-called readers. It's only within the safe confines of my journals that I've ever really felt like myself, that I'm ever able to write with complete and utter creative abandon.
The Creative Writing in Spanish course I've been taking this semester has really forced me to re-evaluate my writing skills and methods. It's totally back-to-basics, and I love it. Poetry writing is admittedly difficult and mind-numbingly tedious, but I'm secretly reveling in rediscovering "me," the poetic voice I never knew I possessed. Yes, my poetry has been at times both contrived and disgustingly trite, but I'm glad to have an excuse to start from scratch again. Not going to lie, it feels really great.
In a perfect world, myexhalation would be my own forum, my personal sounding board where I get to hear myself talk, and where my other "selves" would respond in critique. A round table of sorts. But, of course, that most trusted and omnipresent enemy of mine -- my own damned self-awareness -- makes this a seemingly impossible thing to achieve. Nevertheless, it's a state of mind that I am continually working towards. When the words flow with the same ease as they do in the privacy of my journals, when both mind and pen are thinking and feeling in the most perfect of synchronizations...that's when I'll know I'm there.
October 12, 2009
my favorite song
In these days with the world getting colder
She spends more time sleeping over
Than I’d planned
Tonight we're gonna order in
Drinkin' wine and watchin' CNN
It’s dark, I know
But then again, it's the brightest thing I've got
When I'm covered in rain, rain
When I'm covered in rain, rain, rain, rain
From fireworks to fireplaces
Summer stole what fall replaces
And now we're people watching
All the people, people watching us right back
Standing by the missing signs
At the CVS, by the checkout line
She puts her quiet hands in mine,
Cause she's the brightest thing I've got
When I’m covered in rain, rain
When I’m covered in rain, rain, rain, rain
Oh, I’m covered in rain
Oh, I’m covered in rain
Oh, I’m covered in rain
And come December, Lydia left
She mentioned something ‘bout it being for the best
And I can't say I disagree, and it's killing me
And now I’m standing facing west
Tracing my fingers round a silhouette
I haven’t gotten used to yet,
But it’s the brightest thing I’ve got
When I’m covered in rain
She spends more time sleeping over
Than I’d planned
Tonight we're gonna order in
Drinkin' wine and watchin' CNN
It’s dark, I know
But then again, it's the brightest thing I've got
When I'm covered in rain, rain
When I'm covered in rain, rain, rain, rain
From fireworks to fireplaces
Summer stole what fall replaces
And now we're people watching
All the people, people watching us right back
Standing by the missing signs
At the CVS, by the checkout line
She puts her quiet hands in mine,
Cause she's the brightest thing I've got
When I’m covered in rain, rain
When I’m covered in rain, rain, rain, rain
Oh, I’m covered in rain
Oh, I’m covered in rain
Oh, I’m covered in rain
And come December, Lydia left
She mentioned something ‘bout it being for the best
And I can't say I disagree, and it's killing me
And now I’m standing facing west
Tracing my fingers round a silhouette
I haven’t gotten used to yet,
But it’s the brightest thing I’ve got
When I’m covered in rain
Always will be one of my favorite songs. Everytime I listen, I end up losing myself in it and waking up crying.