hej the ash: hoping you take a look into your -pretty random postes- again, i contribue some my own. you reminded me of some deadline i was set for today as well. by myself, but it counts, doesit? it does. hope you did finish something to be finished…, st.
Today time is stretching into a comfort I didn’t know I remember
Healthy fruit juices are my absolute favourite! And the entire collection of berries look even more delicious. Not sure if I know all the fruits you mentioned, but surely inspires me to buy more fruits.
The chapbook idea sounds great. But i’m yet to write chapbooks proper. Been a while since i wrote something substantial. Soon enough, for sure.
I agree, Dresden was an invigorating experience for me too. I tried getting in touch with them about the AdA again for something, but somehow did not manage to locate their email.
Congratulations about what’s happening at your archive. I hope that you get to do more things with it, since you have been very excited about the idea.
It’s late. Or should i say early? Must sleep. Here is to hoping that time will stay large and get larger even.
But, the idea was to stay asleep earlier than usual.
Which means that things have to descend deep enough that i stay asleep.
I wonder why anyone falls asleep. If it’s like falling in love, yes, i would over and over. But if it is tripping and falling into a ditch of sleep. So either you are bewitched or ditched as you fall asleep. Like a trap/spell.
Why would i rather stay asleep now and fall awake tomorrow?
So that i can fall in love with day again and just trip into it’s might gravity. Falling awake would be a realisation.
Staying asleep is temporary because stays are all temporary. Nobody ever stays at the same place forever, especially when they pretend to.
The lullaby sounds like a lack of deferral. A statis not deferred. A something that stayed. Stayed like a lover who just decided to stay back a moment before you were about to ask him to.
Stay as lofty as a pillow. Stay the breadth of a mattress. Stay the careful size of a personal diary swimming among the whole length of history and beyond. Stay just long enough that you always wish it stays just a little longer.
I know you were looking for a different kommata. I don’t know what it means, but i’m very keen to make my own meaning. Purely coincidental that it attends to your interest in Telugu and the flora of faraway lands. Komma means branch and aata means game. Together they mean branch-game. Not a game that I know of. But recently I read a book by Milan Kundera which ended with “a branch at the entrance of his house [in Denmark] like a held up hand, welcoming him home”.
Komma is still branch, but maata is speech / [one’s] word. So, kommata a grammatically incorrect combination of these two, which would mean that it’s the speech of the branch. In motion and in movement. And in whistles and in whispers.
Quick geography lesson. India has several different climatic regions, with vegetations which are same as that of the Sahara desert, the Alps, the Rhine valley, the Amazon, etc., due to varying elevations, latitudes. The type of trees that might describe places I’ve lived in particularly, are deciduous trees. They are known for shedding leaves in summers and go entirely leafless. They apparently do it to save water. Check out Amaltas, that’s the picture I sent you of that glorious yellow tree. Last month, it would have zero leaves and just flowers. Here, the kommata is yellow, naked and so gloriously naked.
(((The field free of certainties)))
Were leaves certainties, the trees are free in summers
Were calendars certainties, we are only free at the end of history
Were we ever free, we would express the universe like any other celestial object
hej good morning india…,
well yes, i was up for a special -kommata-, voici:
and by that referring to some (habit) of (gens ennuyant) who always feel the need to correct ones speech, as -kommata- would be the correct (traditional) form plurale of -komma- although -kommas- is long since established. im really pissed off people wanting to tell me german. i like (not in the case of using -kommas- (or not) instead of -kommata- when speaking of the (division sign within phrase particles) provoking that phenomenon, because if challenged i dare to claim i know to not make -any- mistakes writing in my mother tongue… (like) being lazy, to bend of grammatic and orthograph rules, but i know them -by heart-. i prove that by intervening your tries in that subject if im allowed to. am i? i think. you wanted to learn, i hope youre into that encore. i needed help (which is embarrassing i know) in the english language as well since i remark certain (incertanties) expressing myself in that hellofamelange im thinking. feel free to note&correct if somethings put too weirdly.
okay, im off in a minute, this for the monday morn… i enjoy this little conversation very much… st.
Last night, I bought a small plastic bowl of Mother Dairy Curd, after dinner, and got it all the way up to the room. I somehow remember brining it up. And then i washed my spoon and sat to eat it, and it was gone. Just vanished. Odds are that i forgot it at the shop but I somehow strongly remember brining it all the way up, even as i unlocked the room.
Nostalgia acts in strange ways perhaps. In Odysseus, he longs to go home for 20 years, and he celebrates that pain of solitary longing, each time the specific memories blurring and the emotion deepening. The loss of detail strengthening the magnitude of the longing. If nostalgia works as a dirge for lost memory, then what about deepened memories? The more i remember a detail, it’s not like I have given up my emotion or longing for the lost curd. The longing for it increases.
It’s perhaps in the nature of lost objects to incite longing. The moment they are lost, they call for retreival. Sometimes they throw a challenge. And in search for the lost object, we do things we would not otherwise do. A sense of purpose if it were. I searched the entire room and found many layers of the past i have paused. Or to use a less digital term, maybe they are just halted processes. Notebooks left midway, unopened condoms, souvenirs from long lost friends, part of a Lay’s Chips packet from pointless screen-stuck evenings. An entire architecture of things unused : moved by the longing for one lost object.
Also why is doubt such a bad thing? Isn’t the most fundamental principle in Quantum theories of things, the little I know of it, is the Heisenberg Uncertainty Pronciple? The inability to determine exactly whether something is one or the other. The inability to determine whether i did bring the curd to my room or not.
Let’s hope I did not, and that my room is not haunted at the moment. They say that love is the glorification of the present. Maybe one antidote for nostalgia, not that one can control it, is some such glory of the moment. Love of something, unto something, around something, within something. Some sort of a sigh deepened by a spectacle so simple that it’s loudest sound is a whimper and the brightest light is a lamp flicker.