Still Sundays

Posted 19th Dec '10 7 comments Posted In Still Sundays

December 19th.

Open books no one can read. Eclipses. Iqbal: “Poet as a human being.”

If you would like to know what Still Sundays is about, please take a quick gander here and just read the third paragraph. Thanks.

New York City is an ice cube. You can slide around it but know you can’t really go inside. It is indeed a glass menagerie. Glamorously inaccessible. It will get worse and then thaw. It’s a false sense of stillness for much moves within.

I had three lengthy email exchanges, quite personal, with three very dear friends.

I recalled a humorous tweet ... read more »

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Still Sundays

Posted 24th Oct '10 9 comments Posted In Still Sundays
New York at Twilight

October 24th.

Symphony of connections that last and meetings that may not happen again.

If you would like to know what Still Sundays is about, please take a quick gander here and just read the third paragraph. Thanks.

Compared to most New York City slickers I walk slow. I have been told this on numerous occasions by friends and it is intentional. Others skip split seconds with their foot steps without noticing the rhythm between the sky and earth, beyond gravity, in which we float. I don’t understand the rush to nowhere.

Yet, when walking next to those who are visiting me from outside the City I still move pretty fast. ... read more »

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2010: Sublime Flux

Posted 1st Jan '10 9 comments Posted In the examined life

Everyone has something profound to say once they have “made it,” whatever that “making it” may entail for that individual—making a certain amount of money, buying one house or many, getting married, having children or seeing them happily married, degree(s), fame, promotion, “security”, fill-in-the-blank.  I want to talk about when you feel so far from “making it” that you can’t even spell it! I want to point at the stream of cataclysms of the betwixt and between.  Events, one right after another, which lead you to finally conclude that life is really just that: one big transition. Death might be the only full stop—the rest of life is a series of commas, semi-colons, and any other ... read more »

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    '...if I want it to be independent and original, passionate and free of artifice — well, then I need to do the work without complaint and without seeking refuge in some glorified ideal of the 'literary life.''
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