*
my sister glorifying Tigayon lake (Tigayon Hills, Aklan)
nostalgia in frame:
Erfurt.
imagine a street full of quaint shops.
each shop owning a YOUness. one shop full of mugs, another of vintage cameras, an old one displaying typewriters. each shop offers various sizes, ages and styles of a certain product. as much as i enjoy the random small shops here in Calle Real, it felt extra special to aimlessly walk and step inside those shops. that time, i felt that the eyes are indeed windows to the soul. it cured a hunger. sensuous journey on foot for a couple of hours.
here’s to celebrating the old and the authentic, the beautiful hands of people everywhere that mold and create, the beauty and catharsis of the human soles, the awe of taking in— every crumb of something to discover.
—–*
recently, balcony and bus window music:
Bon Iver
Alexi Murdoch
Mumford and Sons
Yann Tiersen
Devendra Barnhart
Angus and Julia Stone
The Tallest Man On Earth
.
*
*
grateful for:
the child in her: mouth wide open in awe —oh just gets me every time!
thank you for crossing islands just to see me in person, poetess. the heat of my bedroom misses your inquisitive nature, the way you forget where you place your belongings, the sound of your laughter and the way you murmur words while asleep (haha). here’s to the no-intimidation and distant fascination i was telling you about- because you are so human and truly beautiful when near, when embraced.
she sat there, same taxicab i and Karen took from Progreso, Lapuz.
she sat there, maybe minutes later she’d talk to the driver and tell him about Lola Emma or
Mayolo or that sekyu who became my friend—
sat there, in her bookshelves dress, slender legs and faded toenail paints.
sat there, oil films and sms from Adi, sat there with a box of mangoes from Guimaras.
so she sat there as i and Karen bought some siopao before we took the dyip to La Paz.
she sat there, stopping tears.
i sat on the dyip stopping mine, biting pieces of mantao and a little chicken flake.
the taxicab driver does not know that she refuses arrivals
and that she aches with the strings,
but he knows
she has a broken smile
bruised knees
old soul
buoyant heart.
—————————————————————
why the slow, simple life in most days?
for it includes trusting personal experience and not the media “expertise” which exists primarily to sell products, putting enjoyment over careerism, promoting non-competitiveness instead of dominance and winning, connecting with nature — Connecting with self and nature, creating local communities encouraging people to come together in caring relationships.
(idealistic, yes- but always attempting to reject too much of materialism, fakeness and phoniness. i guess it’s always rewarding to gain a new enriching experience and a new friend than be enslaved with the idea of something with a tag price. comfort is different from bragging rights)
and why TRAVEL and NOT MERELY SIGHTSEE when you CAN?
“We have only education to better ourselves, and if experience is the best education, it comes through experience of our surroundings, of life itself. That, perhaps is why we travel. If the human race is to evolve further, we need cultural understanding, cross-border ties and a shunning of the bigotry, greed and corruption of politics.”
Immersion–it does not have to be FAR but maybe, maybe just DEEPer than the usual pose-with-a-landmark.
Link Love:
http://www.cosmolearning.com/
.
*
.
*
she likes seashore naps and the view of everything from the bus window. she likes tiny moments and the small spaces between faces when people talk.
sometimes, she wakes up to that odd feeling of being a fallen leaf, an old tree, an azotea or a waitress somewhere-- talking to a taxicab driver about that random song on the radio.
*
---
---
and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
*
*
***
maddening spurt:
----------------------
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac-
