Road Trip Fun

I cried for three hours straight with this song on repeat. 

(Mostly in PA.)

I am frequently ridiculous.

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Cope/Hope

the killer is beautiful

the killer is additional

I know I'll come back

even if I were killed

even if hills multiply

even to a better life

unclasp the shy wind

swim sunset swamps

heed me lest I weep

heed me for I weep

tears have hard hands

and I close my eyes

to dream to dream 

to dream to dream

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Sacred Games

There's so much love for the Netflix adaptation of Vikram Chandra's Sacred Games right now. I watched a couple of episodes (that counts as work--staying abreast of the field--right?) and noticed that the subtitles are really off. Sometimes for no reason I can discern.

Like:



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What do you recognize?

S posted this picture yesterday, and I loved the doggo. 

Then I realized I knew the backdrop to the picture
intimately. 

It was three kitchens ago,
and kinda my favorite kitchen 

ever.

UPDATE: At got the connection right away. "It's because I spent so much time at that table trying to finish my food." 😂
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Not a Metaphor

I don't forget you
flying
astral, austere

I search until time
is up
over, easy

My prayer speaks
as breath
salient, silent

_________________
Despite a small wheeze, I spent yesterday singling Thyagaraja kritis and slapping talams with tenuously connected new friends (book club to E; E to Tamil classes with S; S a student of R's mom; A a colleague of R; and so on). It was lovely--something I didn't even know I needed. And Nu told me in a silent moment that I sang beautifully.
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Babama and Baby NuNu

Recently, I did a meditation that asked me to remember the oldest person (Babama, my great grandmother) and the youngest person (Baby NuNu) I had loved. If they could have a conversation with each other, what would they learn? How would I introduce them? I was in tears then because they would never meet each other as Babama died before my babies were born.

But I was reminded that some things live on. Nu lost her screen privileges this week, and when I was telling Big A about why she had lost them, he reminded me of Babama's principle. Basically, if you enable people to cheat (by leaving valuables around, or being lax about people copying off you, etc.) you are responsible for the crime--not the unfortunates who are compelled by their circumstances to steal, copy, lie etc.

When I trace the timeline of this piece of advice through the generations and geographies it has traveled, it's basically a study of how love connects us.

Now for that difficult conversation with the 10-year-old.

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The Uncurling

I had thought they were
telling a story about you

but then I catch my name

and know that now

this is a story about me.

It's just another story anyway. 

It seems there are only seven,

or eleven, or several hundred

with thin differences in place,

in time, detail, and mystery.

I grieved all the dead kittens

lying on the highway until 

you told me they were raccoons--

animals with no human family. Oh. 

So we recognize the incognizable--

is that even possible? I mean.

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