Monthly Archives: October 2009

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i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

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The Donkey

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

GK Chesterton

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Jewellery school, and other pipe-dreams

The other day I did a spot of judicious Googling and found a jewellery-making school that I want to go to. It’s in Titirangi, for one thing. Titirangi, as readers may know, is drop-dead gorgeous and contains good things like a fire station, an art gallery, and a woman named Wilhemeena, who, back in the day, used to give me a massage every fourteen months or so when one of her somatics workshops was cancelled due to underbooking. Such were the days. I haven’t seen Wilhemeena for months, and even then it was just a fleeting glimpse of her choreography at the Famous Spiegeltent in Aotea Square. And another thing. There are implements involved, and there is nothing like an art form that requires flames and hammers and death-grip pincer devices, is it.

Alas, however, I sadly recall the following facts:

Monday: leave at 0715, get back at 1800, teach until 1930 or later

Tuesday: leave at 0715, get back at 1800, teach until 1900 or later

Wednesday: leave at 0645, go straight to student group, get home around 2300

Thursday: leave between 0645 and 0845, go to other work, finish at 2230, get home who-knows-when

Friday: leave at 0615, finish at 1430, attempt social life

Saturday: leave at 0745 depending, do killer mat class, maybe teach, go to library, write like the dickens, get home around 2300

Sunday: leave for church earlyish, go to work, finish at 2230, get home who-knows-when

[Timetable is wildly variable due to high levels of security awareness and should not be relied upon for abduction or social networking purposes, but you get the idea.]

Also, it is distinctly possible that budgeting difficulties could be encountered when trying to factor in extra alloys and such-like. Not all of us can play with gold and get away with it. But still. Girlies can dream.

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More NaNoWriMo plans

So the National Novel Writing Month plans are coming along slowly. It was probably only a matter of time before the boy person friend, bless his tiny heart, realised that NaNo contributions don’t have to be individual affairs.

Boy person friend: Can we collaborate? Ooh?

Moi: No.

BPF: But don’t you want to help me to succeed?

Moi: But I did Script Frenzy with Smokey last year and we wrote about a hunnerd words.

BPF: But Smokey has a child and a husband. I am unencumbered.

Moi: It would be like when we try to buy peanut butter together.

BPF: No, no. [Thinks briefly about that experience.] Your ideas are legitimate. You can decide things. You can decide the colour of the toothbrush the main character uses.

Moi: You see?

BPF: No, no. [A pause, and then he gives a rakish sideways look.] Will it be red?

He is a sweetie.

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An Omnibus of Evil

The Auckland bus service, as is its wont, decided on another strike. Silly fathead idiot-minus smeckin’ misbegotten what-the pain in the proverbial singing, dancing, all-out pants bus service. Why were there knees to receive me? The latest bus strike was limited to only a few bus companies and lasted for several hours; this one is near-universal and expected to go on for days. The scurvy bottom-dwelling blighters took down their website, so Betty, ever the forward-thinker, hoofed it to the local bus stop in plenty of time to investigate the promised replacement services — you know, the ones you catch when you’re in actual need of getting from Point A to Point B, and you’re docile enough to be grateful for the good nature of the drivers, who should, by the way, be paid a decent wage, and rubbish fast. It turned out they were running replacement buses from Takapuna to Milford. Milford. As an aside, if I throw a small pebble in a northerly direction, walk over to the pebble, spit with reasonable force, and walk to where I have spat, I will be in Milford. So excuse me if I’m not all saints-be-praised at the thort.

However. Betty is made of stern stuff. Why, just this very morning I spent an hour and a half doing an Advanced Reformer and a complete Spine Corrector workout, among other things. I can take it. So I set off.

Some statistics. Time at waking, 0545 hours. Time of departure for work, 0750 hours. An atypically late start, I might add. Projected time of arrival back home, 0010 hours the following day. Time of departure for work tomorrow, 0645 hours. Elapsed time for sleeping, 6 hours and 35 minutes, minus any time frittered away on tooth-brushing or changing underoos. Look at it another way. Total walking time to work, 1 hour and 40 minutes. Total walking time once I’ve got back home tonight, for those interested, will be 3 hours and 20 minutes. Total workout time today, bear with me, 4 hours and 50 minutes. Some observations:

  • Walking may reduce depression, but it has been known to exacerbate homicidal rage.
  • I should have the body of Jennifer Garner.
  • I am too old for this.