hello.

i Mooved

Flying Home
by Sudeep Sen

I meticulously stitch time through the embroidered sky,
through its unpredictable lumps and hollows. I

am going home once again from another
home, escaping the weave of reality into another

one, one that gently reminds and stalls
to confirm: my body is the step-son of my soul.

But what talk of soul and skin
in this day and age, such ephemeral things

that cross-weaves blood and breath
into clotted zones of true escape.

What talk of flight time and flying
when real flights of fancy are crying

to stay buoyant unpredictably in mid-air
amid pain, peace, and belief: just like thin air

sketches, where another home is built
in free space vacuum, as another patchwork quilt

is quietly wrapped around, gently, in memoriam.

-----

oh so beautiful.

i am tired, though, from thinking up Games to do with Cupcakes (this is what you get for going straight back to your cg after the most harrowing experience of your life), and also from reading alice munro's stories. they have so much weight but they're incredibly lovely nonetheless; i love how she spaces out the moments of accidental clarity. snapshots of lives you might have lived in another time, in other places.

i am in desperate need of a new webspace. this one is insanely optimistic, and not always apt.

God's love is meteoric, his loyalty astronomic,
His purpose titanic, his verdicts oceanic.
Yet in his largeness nothing gets lost.

Psalm 36:5-6 MSG

i thought this warranted a note :)

it's been a long time since i've done a music post, so...

emmy the great is coming!

also, school has started. i wonder if i should be feeling something else besides an obligation to be thankful. contraband, convalescent gratitude. although i really do miss my friends. in something like occasional flu-like bouts :)

from the busiest sunday morning of my life thus far.



it was worth the ache and effort.

my family is very sweet, although curiously and abnormally obsessed with Monk.

oh, says my aunty, no wonder they kept playing his songs on the radio today. i thought it was his birthday.

poor man. the pains of being the king.

the new church building is so... chiseled. but the peanut butter and jelly-coloured chairs are a definite plus.

can't is a very new concept and, despite its brutality, not altogether unpleasant.

i feel like there's something i'm missing here. some kind of, i dunno, vague moral exemplum. oh dear.