things i like today

1. felt. specifically, the way that felt feels when i pull it apart. it's unpleasant in the most delightful way.
2. bats. i always like bats, but it's getting towards the time to see them again and they've been popping up an awful lot lately, in unexpected places.
3. strawberry jelly on tortillas.
4. parasites.

passive

the lines cross and cross again and slowly the pattern of my days becomes the weft and the warp and time passes. tapestries made of time and thought.

imaginings

somewhere and somehow i thought i was more than the sum of my parts. more than bone plus meat plus blood plus electricity plus a few assorted oddments and bits. more than energy in equals energy out. somewhere in that equation i thought there was a soul. 21 grams that mysteriously disappears between lifespark and dead ember. i was mistaken. the sum of the parts is the soul and the self. the electrical current that flows through this meat, the meat itself, the blood and the bile and the bone, that is the soul. the lifespark is not separate from the body or the mind. the three are inseparable and turning off one turns off the others as well. it is a simple switch to flip off, but it requires a key to turn back on.

the shiny golden men

i think i have to.

the oscars:

best picture - no country for old men: okay. totally okay with this. it was a dead heat between there will be blood and this, so i am totally okay with this.

best actor - daniel day lewis: uh, duh. i mean, really. there was no question here. at all. no one else had a chance.

best actress - marion cotillard: okay, i guess. i mean, i wish laura linney would have won, but that was based more on finding 'la vie en rose' boring than really on the performances, so totally acceptable.

best supporting actor - javier bardem: i suppose. i would've chosen tom wilkinson, as far as an actually masterful performance rather than a cleverly creepy one. but bardem haunts my dreams, in terrifyingly erotic ways, so whatever.

best supporting actress - tilda swinton: it was her or ruby dee. and she was very, very, very good.

best director - joelethan coen: i see why. i would've chosen julien schnabel, but that's okay. 'the diving bell and the butterfly' nearly made me vomit, i can't see the academy being able to stomach it.

adapted screenplay - joelethan coen: yeah. definitely. no question on this one.

original screenplay - diablo cody: ugh. i despise diablo cody. juno was cute and clever. i would've preferred ratatouille if they wanted cute and clever, though.

original song - glen hansard (once): thank god. the rest of the options were horrible.

original score - dario marianelli/atonement: okay, it was the best of the options given. there is no reason that they shouldn't have nominated 'there will be blood'.

cinematography - robert elswit (there will be blood): yes. totally okay with this. would've preferred 'the diving bell and the butterfly', as it was actually creative cinematographically, but 'blood' was unquestionably the most conventionally exceptional of the bunch. 'the assassination of jesse james' was also exceptional, creatively. but unusual doesn't get rewarded, unfortunately.

editing - christopher rouse (bourne ultimatum): seriously? no, really... 'diving bell' should've won here. or at least 'blood'. blech.

costume design - elizabeth: the golden age: you know, i really don't care that much. hooray for neck ruffs? i think this is awarded based on the amount of fabric used.

art direction - sweeney todd: okay, i totally accept this one. it was a cohesive fantasy world, and the most evident use of art direction.

animated feature - ratatouille: give ratatouille best original screenplay so that persepolis could win this. good lord, pixar shouldn't just AUTOMATICALLY get the oscar. persepolis was better, overall. and they used an old animation stand. whatever.

animated short - peter and the wolf: sure. they pick the boring one. tutli-putli should have won. or moya lyubov. both were more accomplished.

live action short - the mozart of pickpockets: yep. no question here. at all.

documentary feature - taxi to the dark side: i'm just glad fucking sicko didn't win.

documentary short - freeheld: you know, i really don't like documentaries. documentary shorts are even less interesting.

foreign language film - the counterfeiters: eh, mongol was more interesting. this is such a throwaway category, anyhow.

visual effects - the golden compass: well, i suppose they were choosing between evils?

makeup - la vie en rose: they can't exactly give it to norbit, now, can they.

sound editing - the bourne ultimatum: again, totally unacceptable. it seems like they were forced to choose between 'no country' and 'blood' and didn't want to, so they chose something else. which is ridiculous. 'blood' should've won here.

sound mixing - the bourne ultimatum: yeah, 'no country' should've won here.

ah, yet another catalogue of why i hate the academy.
i feel sick.
brakhage, anyone?

imaginary creatures

i made a list of imaginary creatures, but i can't show it to you because they are imaginary.
i made a collection of rose petals but they dried and crumbled away.
i made a jar of honey but i didn't, actually, the bees did.
i made a fireworks display and it exploded in your heart.

vernal longings

i saw my first meadowlark of the year this morning, as i made my tired way home from work. his proud yellow chest gleamed in the early morning sun. soon enough the early mornings will be filled with birdsong, the hard frozen matutinal hours less lonely for their bright presence.
i heard a meadowlark last week, but somehow it doesn't count until i see one. the robins, of course, have been puttering about since the new year - i'm not fully convinced that they ever leave - and the starlings and pigeons have been occupying my walls as usual.
i picked up a habit for bird-watching at some point in my life. i'm not sure when it was, but i believe that it has its root in my longing for wings. i do it from the car, even. i can spot birds from the car, while driving, that most people wouldn't notice until they disappeared in a flurry of you're-too-close wings. i see kestrels, frequently, and red-tailed hawks, and hover-dancing prairie falcons. less frequently i spot the bald eagles or the big, proud goldens. the ravens and the crows and the turkey vultures are ever-present, and the swallows dance like fireflies in the summer sunset. one evening i spotted a great-horned owl as i walked to my car. it swooped low overhead and, though it couldn't have been more than five feet from my head, i could only hear the barest whisper of feathers through the air.
the seasons are filled with the comings and goings of fauna and flora, things that i recognize only on an intuitive, unconscious level - until i blurt something out that i didn't know i knew. the elk only show up in late winter, when the food higher up has run out; the baldies prefer to cruise above the prairie dog town until something gets hit, and take the roadkill rather than waste effort on a hunt; the kestrels like the edges of fields because that is where the mice are easiest to catch; red-tails prefer snakes over anything else; prairie falcons whistle when they are happy.
i know other things, too, i'm sure. i just can't think about them, or they slide away.

mein lieber freund

we read minds, you and i. i yours and you mine. softly we slip in and out of one another's consciousness, unnoticed or unlooked for. you know when i cannot sleep for you are wakeful also, restless in your pile of bedding.

sleep

i am up at five in the morning watching cartoons on nickelodeon because i am not able to force myself into slumber. the dog is snoring, the house is quiet, the sun won't be up for two hours.
i'm very much alone.

bohunk

i am a northern european mutt. part irish, part scottish, part welsh, part german, part norwegian, part swedish, part polish, part austrian, part bohemian. so, really, gaelic, celtic, nordic, slavic, and saxon- which about covers the northern european tribal units. this mutt-ness comes in handy, when i am in europe, because i don't look american. i lack the open face and the wide set eyes and the bland nose that generations of homogenization have created in certain parts of america- the 'California' look. it's interesting, because my father looks very american- very much like the boy scout he is. but my mother looks like she's related to brigid, so i suppose i get it from her. anyhow, the point of telling you all of this is that i find it amusing that i can legitimately call myself a bohemian. and even the bohemians, now the czech, would agree.
just don't call me moravian.

two of the reasons i've been neglecting this

are the following:





(i apologize for the shitty quality on these, YouTube doesn't allow for high quality videos, sadly.)

i've actually finished something. two things. they're done. they have sound. they're completely finished. hurrah.

the shiny golden men

i've seen all of the best picture oscar nominees now. i can honestly say that for the first time, i actually like them all. i cannot comprehend, however, the placement of juno and atonement in such august company. both are sweet and have their charms. but next to the other three, there will be blood and no country for old men and michael clayton, they are soft and forgettable. michael clayton, however, is the worst and most pleasurable case of cinematic blue balls i've ever experienced. the tension builds and builds and then does not release. it pretends to release, but the buildup simply continues. anyhow, it's quite good.

happy birthday to me

i got four cacti.

sinking

i am submerged and cannot surface. i do not want to leave the world which was created for me. it was created for me and none other.

lower

i have a peculiar bit of body dysmorphia lately that makes me think i am much larger than i am. i can't seem to recognize that clothes don't fit me, at least not without a concerted effort to see it. i bought new jeans last week that seemed to fit me fine in the store, but now that i have them home i realize they are at least a size too large. they're comfortable, and it's not as though they are so large they will fall off, but they are clearly not my fit. the pants that i wear for work, i think, fit me fine. but i know that they, also, are at least two sizes too large. i can take them off easily without unbuttoning them. i have, without any particular effort, lost 25 lbs. in the last two years. at one point i had lost more than that, but i was far too thin and have worked to put a bit of weight back on. and yet i am still wearing the same size pants. delusional. i pulled on my ski pants, which i had not worn in two years, and they were so large i could tuck my heavy winter coat into them. everything fits better, and everything is easier to do. i can run for more than a block, which in the past would've killed me. i walk miles at a time. i can pull off yoga poses that i never would've managed before. i know, on some level, that i am in much better shape than i have ever been. and yet intuitively i am still a considerably less healthy me.