gpoyw. {blue}

I wish I had time to tell a tale.

Something about la Méditerranée.

I would share a short story

Translated last year in a course taught by a good man

An inspiring man

A fellow wanderer

And poet and writer

Who someday wishes to sail away

And live on his boat

And settle for a moment

on

Corse. 

The story is called 

La Vague et Le Rocher

By

Hélé Béji

or

The Wave and The Rock.

I think it is about friendship

wish it were sold here

Everyday life

Interiors

Characters and personalities manifested

Fascinate me.

The worlds I perceive as charming enough to wish I were in them. 

Always that certain photographic quality that attracts. 

That gaze, that font, that layout. 

Merci Montmartre.

Apartamento.

gpoyw. of sorts.

Poetry for Breakfast or A Breakfast of Champions

Something to keep in mind as graduation looms and dreams get lofty.

Something

To remember

Upon graduation.

If I were to speak at commencement, perhaps I would say these words written by Dallas Clayton: 

 

REVISED YOUR “TO DO” LIST

Be a famous musician.

Be a famous actor.

Be a famous writer.

Be a famous basketball player.

Be famous.

 

There is nothing more nourishing than waking up with words running through the mind, your first gesture toward the carved wood cylinder filled with the lead that will draw the first symbols of the day onto smooth, cream paper between pale blue unsubstantial covers bound by a black fragile spine. 

The fragility kills and enlivens me. The narrow escape from boredom, which is nothing more than mindlessness, a lack of inspiration, a loss of play. The constant wavering on fine line of choice leading to experience, leading to possible moments of catharsis. Not only are our bodies ready to break apart at any given moment—not to mention our psyche—ruptured by loss or love or physical object. The euphoric moments, whether clam silent loud deafening subdued, are perhaps even more delicate than ourselves. They seem to be more easily missed than grasped, breakable as they are and so dependent on context within and without. Like a collage, they are sealed into our souls, sewn into the very fabric of our being. And so, in those moments when we are in need of a quilt to wrap tightly our tired bodies, our precarious minds, we’ve this patchwork mosaic of wool linen cotton hemp {I hope few polyester patches, some leftover from a less sophisticated perspicacity} to reach for.

Tuesday night was one of those serendipitous encounters, a chance of choice, and organic unfolding of and ascending toward happiness—always hoped for but elusive and thus unexpected. One of those evening-turning-toward-nights wherein I think nothing of the approaching early hour of obligatory waking, and if I do can only crack a teeth-bearing smile because I’ve found what makes such a dread obsolete, deaden: Life, simply. When the present moment outweighs and contributes to what follows. The heartening, sustaining, nourishing ways to begin and end a day. Uninhibited play grounded in brilliant talent—plus a dash of wisdom and understanding of course.

And the three who made the sound and the antics contributing to such a state. And now I am literally using the word swoon to describe not only the piano playing... but the piano player. 

Jukebox the Ghost

Plus Jenny Owen Youngs who came before, lovely in her own right and folkloricly comforting. This is not an afterthought. 

gpoyw.

gpoyw lust

If I could

I would. 

Via. 

not necessarily the light...

Feeling very calm today. I want to keep it for awhile, add up all the small things that moved me here, to rest if only for a moment. Perhaps it was this torte. Or this cake that indeed wins hearts and minds... and settled mine, and revealed a remembered sweet tooth. Perhaps it was an unexpected visit that took us to lunch here. And a mild, bright day where wandering produced contentment, simply. Or reconnecting with a friend and professor, who recently finished a book and never fails to bolster the present Self with her certainty in future possibility. 

Like

Life gets better, the older you get. It really does. 

All of this, perhaps, but not for sure and not necessary to reach such a state-of-mind. Only a shift in consciousness, only a widened vision, only some perspective. 

It has been days, now, since I was so moved as to fill this space with spirited effusions not satiated by telling those present around me. 

First two photos my own; third photo via here; fourth photo via here.