A lot has happened in this past month.  Some were great things (yay for family visits, promotions, and ladder climbing in a job I actually love!), but many more were not-so-great things, and while I’ll probably write a post about losing Hamlet, I can’t yet.  It’s not for lack of trying, it’s just that once I start writing, my computer screen blurs and takes on this awkward watery vibe, and I have to stop because if I continue it only gets worse.  I’ll see about getting that fixed. 

In the mean time, I’ve found some things that have brought some joy to my world over these past few weeks, and I hope they bring as much joy to you.

• Stuff No One Told Me (but I learned anyway):

Stuff no One Told Me (but I learned anyway)

• I Am Your Canadian Boyfriend:

• Cassie Boorn’s 20-Something Self Letters:

This one has no fun image to go along with it, but it sure did capture my attention when I found it through a downward spiral of link-clicking.  Back on May 22, 2010, Cassie put a call out to women to share their wisdom with other young women.  The concept is for you to write a letter to your 20-year-old self.  It can be advice, warning, inspiration, whatever… but one thing I’ve found in reading each of the ones submitted is that they are always interesting and always touching.  I have been thinking of composing my own and sending it over.  Maybe you should too. 

Random note:

I miss writing fiction. A lot. The characters have gone quiet on the stage, and they’re growing weary from the wait.  I must remedy that soon.

… What is “A place you don’t want to find yourself at night, Alex?”….

Here’s what I remember…

• Scraggly, old, skinny, sunburned monk leading me through
• A shadow-filled Gothic cathedral lit by tea-light 20’s spotlights and candles with mazes of side corridors and staircases lit by torches
• A baptismal font being used as a water fountain and waterfall for  a potted plant that was pampered because it had “consciousness”
• A stage within the cathedral adorned and built as though it were renovated to be used as a performance hall or vaudeville stage
• Balconies full of eager performers all dressed more or less from the 20s and 30s. (This is where it all turned very strangely Noir-ish)
• Two exaggerated caricature hosts/judges of an audition for a musical performance TV show or movie. They were picking audience members at random (Let’s Make A Deal style) to perform complex choreography and musical numbers on the spot, without preparation (causing quite a bit of anxiety).  Failures were met with Hulk sized bodyguards ushering them to the stage where they were beaten and tortured for the audience’s pleasure (and there were plenty of cheers and applause)
• An abusive “agent/boyfriend” of one performer in a Sam Spade hat and trench coat, and a seer sucker suit smoking and spinning a gun
• A performer in a red and black sequined costume with short black bobbed hair who was threatened by the boyfriend to be perfect when she was selected by the hosts to sing a solo
• A surreal moment of realization that the female performer couldn’t sing “the Cell Block Tango” because I hadn’t submitted permissions requests to use it in a dream sequence, and I hadn’t checked my budget for the dream to estimate copyright costs
• A Tarantino-style murder of the Abusive agent/boyfriend by the female performer (who was singing one line from the Chicago tune over and over — “He had it comin’…” (that’s all she could sing before I would have to pay to use the song)
• a Very graphic, bloody, and sound-rich pistol whipping of the boyfriend in the balcony by the female performer.  Blood splattered on the camera lens as it focused in on a shot of his wide brimmed hat splashed with blood
• Applause sign blinking, with three letters partially burned out
• All of this occurred as a musical with running music and every word sung Broadway style.

See what it’s like in my head when I’m asleep?  I usually have pretty lucid dreams, but this was just… bizarre.  I have a lot on my mind, so I’m not surprised that my dreams are becoming more and more …. odd.

I’m woefully behind on updates here, too.  I’ve been incredibly busy, and I have a number of things that I am aiming to post, and hopefully I’ll get to them this week, or this weekend.  If not, I’ll just pick up as usual and go from there. 

Here’s to hoping I can carve out some time!

I’m doing that thing again…

You know, the one where I have a ton of things to post about like visiting friends, new homes, delicious food, good times, and the holidays (oh yeah! And early Christmas presents!  WOO!), but I haven’t the time to do it.  Strangely, for me, the Christmas holiday has been tied to sad feelings for a long time, so I constantly battle self reflection and social examination with the desire to put up a Festivus pole, celebrate the Solstice, Decorate trees, bake cookies, and wrap more gifts than I should because wrapping with wire ribbon and shiny paper makes me happy… it’s the simple things, folks.  So I’ve been doing some literary and musical meditation, and what better way to share my holiday spirit than to get you all thinking? I intend to post more, but we’ll see how the travel-crazy holidays effect that.  

On with the quotes, my darlings… can you detect a theme?

“If it’s true that every seven years each cell in your body dies and is replaced, then I have truly inherited my life from a dead man; and the misdeeds of those times have been forgiven, and are buried with his bones.”
— Neil Gaiman “Murder Mysteries”

~*~

“There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.

You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.

Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.
Whenever it rains you will think of her. ”
— Neil Gaiman (accompanying text for Tori Amos’s album Strange Little Girls)

~*~

“I am not unique in my elegiac sadness at watching reading die, in the era that celebrates Stephen King and J.K. Rowling rather than Charles Dickens and Lewis Carroll.” 
— Harold Bloom

~*~

“Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare went on.

“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least–at least I mean what I say–that’s the same thing, you know.”

“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as well say that “I see what I eat” is the same thing as “I eat what I see”!”
— Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

~*~

“Do you know, I always thought unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!”

“Well, now that we have seen each other,” said the unicorn, “if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you.”"
— Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

~*~

“I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost…but won’t. It is sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.”

— Sylvia Plath

~*~