A Fragile State of Mind
Perhaps it’s this lingering effect of such poetic experiences that I go through lately but if there’s one thing I can call how I feel — it would be — fragile. I feel this weird fragile, vulnerable feeling, a possible byproduct of being in pandemic for so long — a year, to be exact — dealing with my own thoughts, or loaning it to work.
Life lately :
MEDIA:
For 9 weeks — the highlight of my week was every Friday, watching WandaVision with Mike (and Puff and Butters). I was initially not a very big fan of Wanda and Viz in previous MCU movies, I did not get them and I had not a lot of knowledge on the back stories. Viz also looks weird! BUT WandaVision changed all of that and if you know me, I am heavily attracted to these immense displays of human spirit. Such big fan of Lizzie Olsen too, who triumphed against being in the shadows of her twin sisters, Mary Kate and Ashley.
They’re so adorable, please.
ON HARRY/MEGAN — I have not watched anything so I have no comments but I am intending to do that sometime this weekend!
GINNY & GEORGIA
Some people called it Gilmore Girls rip off but darker and you know what? I enjoyed it so much! I love the new and challenging roles that are reflected by the women in the show. I love the wokeness of it — and in many ways makes us think when do we cheer for the bad and the good girl.
The real star of my eye though, is Mason Temple — who plays Hunter Chen. SO CUTE! I really have such type and preference for Asians because I’m Asian!
Anyway, enough about TV! :D Here are my favorite poems I’ve been re-reading and using to slow down myself some afternoons when things get — fast.
“Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I alone can contend against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your ******* smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”
“You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me—the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods—
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house—, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,—
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...”