(Novel) The Alchemist- Paulo Coelho

The Alchemist
Paulo Coelho

This novel is a quick read, but left me itching for a never-ending-story sort of book.  Coelho writes about life and most importantly, living life, with such inspiring and motivating words I couldn't help but doggy ear every other page.  I usually pick out a quote or two or maybe even a paragraph I want to remember later but Coelho is that author one must read and re read, and never forget.  

         "It was the pure Language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing.  He was more certain of it than of anything in the worlds.  He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed.  But maybe people who felt that way had never learned the universal language. Because, when you know that language, it's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city.  And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant.  There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only.  It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world.  Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning (93)."  

"One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving (122)." 

"People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them.  We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of monuments that could have been good but weren't, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly. .... The fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity (130)."  

"To realize one's destiny is a person's only obligation." 

Notes on unpacking...

Yes... six months after moving into this apartment, 7 months after graduating from college, I have finally retrieved all of my boxes from storage.  As I rip the plastic and worn out cardboard, memories, feelings, and a full array of emotions flood out of each and every box.  I can literally feel the stress blow into my face while opening a box of school supplies and text books.  Thats when I open a bottle of wine.  The stress hit me so hard it was completely and one hundred percent necessary to clean out a newly unpacked cup from Prothro (my college dining hall, where I stole many cups and dishes for my personal collection).  With half a bottle of wine in me, and all 15 boxes opened so I had at least a sneak peak into its contents, I began the process of unpacking and reorganizing.  Living in a two bedroom apartment is a shock to me of course so I jump a bit when I catch myself making wild reactions out loud to the outrageous contents of these packages!  I giggled out loud like a seven year kid while untangling yards of Christmas lights which decorated my apartment my senior year.  These lights were a staple in almost every memory I have of my time spent in that room!! 

That was college. Here is "post college"

Of course I was super pleased with the first attempt at decoration, until I had a little more wine, and then ended up with the second version.  The second, by the way, left me rolling on the floor laughing out loud. Mind you I live by myself and while I plan to blame this second version on Luis, it was all me......

I replaced a creepy orange and yellow clown painting (complements of my landlord with awesome taste in interior design) with the drawing by Lauren Burke.  This piece was originally displayed in the gallery for Burke's senior show at Sweet Briar College.  The campus library bought the piece and displayed it in one of their study rooms where I, the skilled and experienced thief of large and oversized framed pieces of art, felt the absolute necessity to kidnap for my personal collection.  My personal collection, as a senior in college, meant it sat on the floor underneath my liquor cabinet propped up against two empty helium tanks (a left over special effect from the artist's old video project) and was eventually covered in drips and spills of vodka-cran or whiskey and cream soda or gingerale and... something.  Sitting lonely and unprotected in a far away storage unit in the middle of no where (which I believe is called Sterling, Virginia) for the last 6 months, I finally retrieved this wonderful work of art and it now hangs (yes, I cleaned the alcohol and whatever stains) above my clean (errrr... sometimes) living room couch.  

The more drunk I became, the more I laughed at the notes I left on the outside of my boxes.  My name was clearly displayed on the top of each box and on the sides were fluorescent notes labeled with the contents.  My favorite read, "books, journals, paper, buddha 8 ball, and party favors." I'm not kidding.  Inside I found an 8 ball in the shape of a buddha which answered questions with answers such as, "where is my monkey?" and "rub my belly!"  The very first thing I pulled out was a package of those noise makers you blow at a surprise party or on new years or something that extend and re-curl... clearly the party favors I mentioned. 

My second favorite fluorescent contents note I enjoyed read, "text books, crafts, dinosaurs."  Literally I opened a cardboard box filled with six environmental studies/biology text books, two gallon sized baggies filled with ribbons, buttons, thread and hot glue refills, and at least ten dinosaurs in different forms! This included an adorable beany baby stego from Tbear of course, as well as light up rubber stegos from Sara Buttine, and a plethora of other assorted stegosauruses (which yes, happen to be my favorite dinosaur of choice if you were wondering).  

The only disappointment of this evening was that my one bottle of wine didn't last long enough! I have placed all my books on my new bookshelf (of course the first priority after dinos) and hung up old art pieces and posters.  At least 10 boxes are still filled with old school supplies and computer cords and things I want nothing to do with anymore.  So instead of unpacking and finding places for these nicknacks, I think I'll throw them in a corner of the Wicked Witch of the East's closet and hope it goes to Savanna, Georgia with her evil husband Benji.  Until then, I'm off to the grocery store for one more bottle before bed time :) 

(Novel) The Brooklyn Follies- Paul Auster

I'm reading this novel by Paul Auster.  These are just a few mini passages that I wanted to remember...

"... There were no rules when it came to writing, he said. Take a close look at the lives of poets and novelists, and what you wound up with was unalloyed chaos, an infinite jumble of exceptions. That was because writing was a disease, Tom continued, what you might call an infection or influenza of the spirit, and therefore it could strike anyone at any time.  The young and the old, the strong and the weak, the drunk and the sober, the sane and the insane.  Scan the roster of the giants and semi-giants, and you would discover writers who embraced every sexual proclivity, every political bent, and every human attribute--from the loftiest idealism to the most insidious corruption. They were criminals and lawyers, spies and doctors, soldiers and spinsters, travelers and shut-ins. If no one could be excluded, what prevented an almost sixty-year old ex-life insurance agent from joining their ranks? What law declared that Nathan Glass had not been infected by the disease?"

And lastly, this little note was stamped in my mind all day after I read it:

"She has the story, and when a person is lucky enough to live inside a story, to live inside an imaginary world, the pains of this world disappear. For as long as the story goes on, reality no longer exists." 

Regina Lyrics- Two Birds

This CD has been in my car since before I put it in the shop two months ago. 
I listen to it every day out of habit and only JUST realized how much this song speaks to me
and the unfortunate truth I've always known and refused to accept. 

REGINA SPEKTOR
TWO BIRDS


Two birds on a wire, one tries to fly away
And the other watches him close from that wire
He says he wants to as well
But he is a liar


I'll believe it all
There's nothing I won't understand
I'll believe it all
I won't let go of your hand


Two birds on a wire
One says c'mon and the other says
"I'm tired"
The sky is overcast and I'm sorry
one more or one less, nobody's worried


I'll believe it all
There's nothing I won't understand
I'll believe it all
I won't let go of your hand


Two birds of a feather
Say that they're always gonna stay together
But one's never going to let go of that wire
He says that he will but he's just a liar


Two birds on a wire
One tries to fly away and the other
Watches him close from that wire
He says he wants to as well but he is a lair

The Decemberists- The Crane Wife 3 (lyrics)

The Crane Wife 3

And under the boughs unbowed
all clothed in the snowy shroud
She had no heart so hardened
All under the boughs unbowed

Each feather it fell from skin
'Til thread bare while she grew thin
How were my eyes so blinded?
Each feather it fell from skin

And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low

A grey sky, a bitter sting
A rain cloud, a crane on wing
All out beyond horizon
A grey sky, a bitter sting

And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low

Charlotte Mew- On the Road to the Sea

On the Road to the Sea


We passed each other, turned and stopped for half an hour, 
     then went our way, 
I who can make other women smile did not make you-
But no man can move mountains in a day. 
So this hard thing is yet to do. 


But first I want your life: -before I die I want to see
The world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes,
There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,
     yet on brown fields there lies
A haunting purple bloom: is there not something in grey skies
     And in grey sea?
I want what world there is behind your eyes,
I want your life and you will not give it me.


Now, if I look, I see you walking down the years, 
Young, and through August fields - a face, a thought, a 
           swinging dream perched on a stile -;
I would have liked (so vile we are!) to have taught you tears
     But most to have made you smile. 


To-day is not enough or yesterday: God sees it all - 
Your length on sunny lawns, the wakeful rainy nights -; tell
          me -; (how vain to ask), but it is not a question -
          just a call -;
Show me then, only your notched inches climbing up the 
          garden wall,
I like you best when you are small. 


Is this a stupid thing to say
Not having spent with you one day?
No matter; I shall never touch your hair
Or hear the little tick behind your breast,
     Still it is there,
     And as a flying bird
Brushes the branches where it may not rest
     I have brushed your hand and heard
The child in you: I like that best
So small, so dark, so sweet; and were you also then too grave
          and wise?
Always, I think. Then put your far off little hand in mine; - 
          Oh! let it rest;
I will not stare into the early world beyond the opening eyes, 
Or vex or scare what I love best. 
But I want your life before mine bleeds away - 
Here - not in heavenly hereafters - soon - 
I want your smile this very afternoon, 
(The last of all my vices, pleasant people used to say, 
I wanted and I sometimes got - the Moon!)


You know, at dusk, the last bird's cry, 
And round the house the flap of the bat's low flight, 
Trees that go black against the sky
And then - how soon the night!


No shadow of you on any bright road again, 
And the darkening end of this - what voice? whose kiss? As
          if you'd say!
It is not I who have walked with you, it will not be I who take 
          away
Peace, peace, my little handful of the gleaner's grain
From your reaped fields at the shut of day. 


Peace! Would you not rather die
Reeling, - with all the cannons at your ear?
So, at least, would I, 
And I may not be here
To-night, tomorrow morning or next year. 
Still will I let you keep your life a little while, 
See dear?
I have made you smile. 


(1921) 

Wolfmother (lyrics)- Colossal

WOLFMOTHER
COLOSSAL

I saw the colossal landscape
Of which I never was a part
It was the magical day
Of which I'd never seen before


The first time I saw colossal girl
The first time I saw colossal girl


Such glowing mountains before us
Pillars of life all fade away
Of all the things I need to say girl
All of these wods are in my way


The first time I saw colossal girl


Well she's running to the hills again
Can you tell me if she'll ever return
She must be mother nature's child
Cause she's running to the call of the wild
She's talkin' to the trees again
Tellin' me that she's one of them
Lookin' at the bird in the tree
Though she's never gonna notice me


Oh is my love a confession
Will I just put it back today
If I had a love to give you
Would you still throw it away


The first time I saw colossal girl
The first time I saw colossal girl


Well she's running to the hills again
Can you tell me if she'll ever return
She must be mother nature's child
Cause she's runnin' to the call of the wild
She's talkin' to the trees again
Tellin' me that she's one of them
Lookin' at the bird in the tree
Though she's never gonna notice me


Can you remember the first time we met
Living together in colossal times
Some things are given with no reason why
Living together in colossal times


I'm just a gypsy with wondering eyes
I'll tell you secrets that send you to sleep
All I can give you is all of my love
These are the things I can give you to keep

Melody Gardot (lyrics)

Sent to me from one of my very best friends....

MELODY GARDOT

BABY I'M A FOOL

How was I to know that this was always only just a little game to you?
All the time I felt you gave your heart I thought that I would do the same for you,
Tell the truth I think I should have seen it coming from a mile away,
When the words you say are,
“Baby I’m a fool who thinks it’s cool to fall in love”
If I gave a thought to fascination I would know it wasn’t right to care,
Logic doesn’t seem to mind that I am fascinated by the love affair,
Still my heart would benefit from a little tenderness from time to time, but never mind,
Cos Baby I’m a fool who thinks it’s cool to fall in love,
Baby I should hold on just a moment and be sure it’s not for vanity,
Look me in the eye and tell me love is never based upon insanity,
Hear the way my heart is beating every other moments fleeting,
Kiss me now,
Don’t ask me how,
Cos Baby I’m a fool who thinks it’s cool to fall,
Baby I’m a fool who thinks it’s cool to fall,
And I would never tell if you became a fool and fell in Love.

Sandra Maria Esteves

(from Aloud; Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Cafe)


SANDRA MARIA ESTEVES
PUERTO RICAN DISCOVERY #23
PORTRAIT IN RAISING SELF-ESTEEM

Flirtacious dreamers
we judge ourselves all wrong


Backward guilt
feet-first jumpstarts into birth
innocent to realize
rain days can be good
blessings from heaven
disguised


We watch for signs
Survival manna
Slow to discover learning lessons
on an oceanic route
full of rocky struts
fathomless caves
voluptuous hills
sea water from the unexpected


The colors in our eyes are misleading
Trapped in partisan confrontations
about the cost of rice
the oil franchise
a video game rate race
for electronic cheese
Every car and plastic bag, a failure
Signatures we tag around
Cheap ads cheating
our children, ourselves


There are no joysticks to the inner life
despite wrappings easily discarded


We are infants compared to the universe
a wise great-grandmother
who can harvest the starts around the moon


She cannot be bought
No pricetags are attached
The inner life has no boundaries
No jail cells--not a one
No fixed points of reference to confine a soul
No eye-catching boxes
to pollute everyday sidewalks


The names of all things are sacred
like thoughts breathing clean air
More than loving
living means giving
like homegrown food
from the eternal harvest within


But for real. 

N. Pham- Desperate Driving

N. PHAM
Desperate Driving


I stare blankly out the windows looking at scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul.  Their stories, their emotions and thoughts and whispers are there and present in each broken down house, slow moving train, well kept lawn and wide open field.  Yet none of their stories are known to me- just scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul. 


My bus is every minute driving further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so desperately want to hang on to.  As I head north I pray north is the same as up when you are at the bottom of a lake tangled in yards of seaweed disguised as arms and hands of all the people you wish would love you but don't. 


As I pass these scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul, I look back at my own reflection in the window.  My hang touches my eyelid and the face staring back mimics my movements but without knowing why the contact between the skin over my eyes and that of my index finger existed or why it was taken away so quickly.  That face in the window is practically a stranger whose mind and heart and soul are untouchable to me.  


With every minute this bus heads more north further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so desperately want to hang on to.  The road tips NW and slides a bit NE again and I stare at scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul.


But as the road tips to the NW and slides to the NE, it still continues to drive more north further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so very desperately am trying to hang on to, I now see a different face in the reflection of the window. And when my forefinger touches my eye lid, the reflection stares back at me and blinks with a strong sense of boredom and bewilderment. 


I stare back. and just as my mind and heart and soul registers a connection in that face in the reflection as a scene that I've seen before, that might possibly mean something to me, that touches my mind and heart and soul as real as I touched my forefinger to my eyelid, that face in the reflection looks away.


And then disappears.  And I drive north. And I stare out the window, blinking with a strong sense of boredom and bewilderment at scenes that I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul. 


As the road tips NW and bends NE and continues to head more and more north, further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so very, very, desperately am trying to hang on to, I notice in the reflection of the window the disguise that was there all along.  Those arms and hands of all the people I so desperately wish would love me but don't, are not truly the arms and hands of you and Sweet Briar and the life I was so desperately trying to hang on to, but seaweed at the bottom of the lake.  


As I drive more and more north, further and further away from that life, that school, that love, I can't tell if I am going up or if I am tipping to the side or bending to the opposite diagonal.  


And as I stare at those scenes that I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register my mind and heart and soul, I touch my forefinger to my eye lid and wipe away a fresh water tear.


The reflection in the window does not mock my movements. It is not even there.  Instead it is at the bottom of the lake with that disguise, with that life, with that school. With that love. 


And I am driving north. 

The Velvet Underground- After Hours (lyrics)

THE VELVET UNDERGROUND
AFTER HOURS


If you close the door, the night could last forever
Keep the sunshine out and say hello to never
All the people are dancing and they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
But if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again. 


If you close the door, the night could last forever, 
Leave the wineglass out and drink a toast to never
Oh, someday I know someone will look into my eyes
And say hello-- you're my very special one--
But if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again. 


Dark cloudy bars
Shiny Cadillac cars
And the people on subways and trains
Looking gray in the rain as they stand disarrayed
All the people look well in the dark
And if you close the door, the night could last forever. 
Leave the sunshine out and say hello to never
All the people are dancing and they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
'Cause if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again
I'd never have to see the day again
(once more)
I'd never have to see the day again

PJ Harvey (lyrics)

PJ HARVEY

Pocket Knife

Please don't make my wedding dress
I'm too young to marry yet
Can you see my pocket knife?
You can't make me be a wife
How the world just turns and turns
How does anybody learn?


Mummy, put your needle down
How did you feel when you were young?
Cause I feel like I've just been born
Even though I'm getting on
How the world slips by so fast
How does anybody last?


As the world keeps coming
And the bees keep humming
And I'll keep running


Flowers I can do without
I don't wanna be tied down
White material will stain
My pocket knife's gotta shiny blade
I'm not trying to cause a fuss
I just wanna make my own fuck-ups
I'm not trying to break your heart 
I'm just trying not to fall apart

N. Pham- Queen Nova

Queen Nova

Goddess of those who hope without praying.

November, Nova

Granting wishes on first stars seen tonight

And in the eleventh moment of the second to last hour.

It is She who catches your pleads

In the mesh of thoughts and prayers and sun and stars

Up there with dreams and wind and memories and water.

It is She, Our Nova

Queen of the stars

Of desire

Of need

Of hope.

Bathed in light.

Peace of the night.

It is She

Queen Nova

N. Pham- White Envelopes

N. PHAM

White Envelopes

Her handwriting reveals a certain child-like,

youth. Mostly in her red sharpie letters

with that particularly cute dot above the "i"

in my name and the varying sizes between

the "R" and the "d" in my address.

The very same handwriting leaves a perfume trail

of mature elegance and wisdom. Each word

reveals a thought process and her breath and

voice linger between each line.

Handwritten letters in matching white envelopes

addressed with red or orange sharpie letters.

In reality they all say the same thing. On the

outside, at least, because I can't yet bring

myself to re-open them.

Her letters remind me of her child-like giggle and

beautiful young smile.

Her letters remind me of her brilliant mind and the

way her spoken words serve to take care of

me and ask me to take care of her at the same time.

Of course those are just her letters --no, the words those

letters form speak a language I do not breathe.

Those sentences describe a world full of situations

and realities I do not understand.

These letters say lots of things. So many things. All these

words and sentences and meanings and truths

and lies and words and words and words. No,

these letters don't really say anything.

Not to me. Not from her.

It is her handwriting alone that reveals her youthful glow

and it is her handwriting that whispers her voice

in my ear. I can hear it in that messy orange heart

that seals the white envelope and the way I imagine

her closing each letter and addressing it to me.

What I hold onto is the voice and the breath and that damn

messy heart. But her words have left me. Just as she

left me. And the envelopes are closed because I do not

breathe her language and I do not walk in her world.

Her handwriting is all I have left although I do not know why

I even hang onto these. Her words do not say anything.

Not to me. Not from her. These are just a bunch of

white sealed envelopes.

Sarah Kirsch

SARAH KIRSCH

Wintermusik

once a red vixen

with high leaps

I got what I wanted

grey I am now grey rain.

I travelled as far as Greenland

in my heart.

a stone shines on the coast

on it is written no one returns

the stone shortens my life,

the four corners of the world

are full of suffering. love

is like the breaking of the spine

Olga Broumas

Love Poems by Women, edited by Wendy Mulford

Today's favorite:

OLGA BROUMAS

Sleeping Beauty

I sleep, I sleep

too long, sheer hours

hound me, out

of bed and into clothes, I wake

still later, breathless, heart

racing, sleep

peeling off like a hairless

glutton, momentarily

slaked. Cold

water shocks me

back from the dream. I see

lovebites like fossils: something

that did exist

dreamlike, though

dreams have the perfect alibi, no

fingerprints, evidence

that a mirror could float

back in your own face, gleaming

its silver eye. Lovebites like fossils. Evidence.

strewn

round my neck like a ceremonial

necklace, suddenly

snapped apart.

O

Blood. Tears. The vital

salt of our body. Each

other's mouth.

Dreamlike

the taste of you

sharpens my tongue like a thousand shells,

bitter, metallic. I know

as I sleep

that my blood runs clear

as salt

in your mouth, my eyes.

O

City-center, mid -

traffic, I

wake to your public kiss. Your name

is Judith, your kiss a sign

to the shocked pedestrians, gathered

beneath the light that means

stop

in our culture

where red is a warning, and men

threaten each other with final violence. I will drink

your blood. Your kiss

is for them

a sign of betrayal, your red

lips suspect, unspeakable

liberties as

we cross the street, kissing

against the light, singing, This

is the woman I woke from sleep, the woman that woke

me sleeping.

O

O