Monday, December 30, 2013

oh look, you're diving as if you've never drowned, let me take care of that for you, baby. 

Friday, December 27, 2013

fish locally? Fuck you, I want the sea! 

From "Around the world- Without a plane", the story of the first man to travel every country without a plane.

"My main lesson from all of this: You can’t judge a people by the actions of their government. The friendliest country I went to, by a mile, was Iran. I just wasn’t expecting that. I was on this overnight bus, and this little old Persian grandmother was sitting in front of me, nattering away on a mobile phone. She turned around and waved at me and gave me her phone. I didn’t know what she wanted me to do with it. I said “Hello,” and there was a guy on the other end, perfect English. He said that his grandmother was concerned about me—the bus gets in very early in the morning, and she’s worried that you won’t have anywhere to go or anything to eat, so she wants to know if she can take you home with her so she can cook you breakfast. Faith in humanity, restored. That’s the lesson: People are good. The spirit of common decency is everywhere you go. Maybe I’m just the luckiest motherfucker in the world, but I went to every country, and I didn’t get robbed, I didn’t get beaten up—I didn’t even get ill."

My take on this -- being an Iranian living in the west, is that people are good, and kind and in fact crave empathy everywhere. What they are missing is not kindness, it's the courage to be kind, and the courage to be on the receiving end of kindness, as these two could only go hand in hand. 

Or maybe it's only the pacific northwest. 

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

The "feeling of being rained upon" as E. L. Doctorow says, not "the fact that it is raining", "Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader". And Virginia Wolf, makes it rain, just like this: 

“One’s grandmother ought to have told one,” said Fanny, looking in at the window of Bacon, the mapseller, in the Strand—told one that it was no use making a fuss; this is life, they should have said, as Fanny said it now, looking at the large yellow globe marked with steamship lines.

“This is life. This is life,” said Fanny.

"A very hard face," though Miss Barrett, on the other side of the glass, buying maps of the Syrian desert and waiting impatiently to be served. "Girls look old so soon nowadays."

The equator swam behind tears.

"Piccadilly?" Fanny asked the conductor of the omnibus, and climbed to the top. After all, he would, he must, come back to her.

But Jacob might have been thinking of Rome; of architecture; of jurisprudence; as he sat under the plane tree in Hyde Park.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

This is by far the most fascinating and mysterious religious ritual I've ever seen.

public service announcement

Be gentle with gooey balls of emotion wrapped carefully with thick layers of analysis. Some people _have_ emotions, these creatures are made of them.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

There's nothing more frustrating One of the most frustrating things to do is getting over the fuss your mind is making over speaking and writing accurately when your audience is not paying attention and/or is incapable of telling the difference. 

Wednesday, December 04, 2013

"this is the end"

"i  still don't think one could stab oneself in the heart, I could shoot myself in the head but I don't think people have the ability to actually stab themselves in the heart and die of it. That last twist needs an external force. the action that kills you cannot happen at the same time as the death itself." 

"one could stab oneself in the heart, sometimes contemplating departure is staring at the knife, sometimes the last twist of the knife is i never loved you, it could be i'm leaving your father.  i cheated on you. it could be this is the end of loving you, goodbye. 

yes, you could stab yourself in the heart. and be guaranteed to not be able to return. and it's even harder this way, you live to grieve your own death. many times over."

PS: a few times this week the controversy around Elliot Smith's death came up in our conversations at work! this is what happens when you play to punk music on speakers at work!