Like jewels in her hands
1 comment May 6th, 2008
cummings, You are tired
You are tired
e. e. cummings
You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)
You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.
Add comment May 3rd, 2008
So that we do not forget
I was looking at the Fandom Secrets and Roleplay Secrets communities a while ago and– wow, there are a lot of insecure people on LJ, aren’t there? So many lonely people, too. It would be very funny if it weren’t somewhat sad.
I’m not really a fan in the “member of FANDOM IN ALL ITS GLORY” sense of the word. I like some anime and manga. Occasionally I write stories about them, the majority of which never leave my head for the less comfortable territory of the digital world. But I don’t feel the need to interact with other fans (it’s very nice, of course, and I love sharing my interests with my friends, but fandom for the sake of fandom, I can do without) nor the desire to win the approval of other people (exception: I look for feedback from friends who have encouraged me to write about all sorts of crazy things, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE). So all this self-seeking, narrow-mindedness, outright hostility… it’s utterly foreign to me. I will not say incomprehensible, because I understand insecurity all too well.
It’s saddening to see so many people looking for — no, rather, expecting — close friendship and affection in fandom communities, then lashing out violently when they feel betrayed. Or young writers judging each other solely by how well they turn sentences or spin illusions; fans twisting characters to fit their own molds of how those characters should be, then turning on each other when their molds do not match; people supposedly bound together by their mutual love for a work of art ripping each other apart. Out of– what? Loneliness? Spite? A need to be proved superior? But then again, superiority contests are pointless, not only on the internet but in real life as well.
I see writers desperate for affirmation, out to (heh) show the world that hey, they’re witty and smart (!). The thing is, does it really matter if you’re more intelligent than the average person? Will it guarantee a happy life? I’m reasonably certain my IQ is way above the average — in high school, during the yearly tests we took, my results didn’t even appear on the scale — but what does it matter, when it comes to loving and losing and winning and rising from defeat? What will it matter, ten years from now? Fifty?
I’m not saying that intelligence necessarily goes with pride or meanness of spirit. But there have been times I’ve wished I could trade my brain for a little more kindness, a softer heart. I may be smart but I’m also a bitter, sharp-tongued shrew, and I don’t find any joy in that. Putting people down by dint of your superior intellect might seem fun, but it’s a hollow amusement.
–
This reminds me of one of the reasons I decided to be selfish and write not to be read, but write for people. I wrote once,
When you write you must have something meaningful to say. Something larger than your characters. Something that doesn’t belong just to them, but to truth.
There must be purpose. There must be meaning. And it must be comprehensible outside that world.
As long as I can see that in my writing, exceptions being made for crack and PWP and fluff, I’m happy. It doesn’t matter if anyone hears what I’m saying or not. Birds will sing whether or not your ears are open.
–
from Death by caramel at Another Miyaw
2 comments May 2nd, 2008
Sáenz, To The Desert
To The Desert
Benjamin Alire Sáenz
I came to you one rainless August night.
You taught me how to live without the rain.
You are thirst and thirst is all I know.
You are sand, wind, sun, and burning sky,
The hottest blue. You blow a breeze and brand
Your breath into my mouth. You reach–then bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
You wrap your name tight around my ribs
And keep me warm. I was born for you.
Above, below, by you, by you surrounded.
I wake to you at dawn. Never break your
Knot. Reach, rise, blow, Sálvame, mi dios,
Trágame, mi tierra. Salva, traga, Break me,
I am bread. I will be the water for your thirst.
Add comment April 30th, 2008
Little sparrow, little sparrow
He has forgotten the convent walls, the iron gate and its thousand barbs, the doors whose hinges screamed as they opened and closed. But he remembers the garden; stepping into that confused mass of greenery hidden behind crumbling stone and rotting wood, his feet sinking into grass and makahiya, yet another child despoiling a secret world.
He remembers sunlight. Most probably he is wrong: it was August then, that first Monday morning, and the skies would have been overcast, cloudy gray. Yet his mind, thinking back, is filled with gold sunshine on white flowers and green leaves, with twitters of birdsong bubbling up amidst silence, with the stone bench warm beneath his touch, with the sudden, unexpected beauty of her face.
He must have stopped and bowed to her, but he cannot remember it. Nor can he recall much, after that overwhelming lightness.
“Who are you?” she had asked, and he, stumbling over his words, trying to breathe past the tightness in his chest, had answered. Years later he will still be wondering what he could have said.
He remembers her smile.
Even then Basilio did not believe in God. But Mary…!
Add comment April 28th, 2008
Sangalang, ChickenJoy
ChickenJoy
Ali Sangalang
Mula nang mapanood ko
sa telebisyon
ang mamang nangangalkal
ng tira-tira
sa basurahan,
hindi ko na sinasaid
ang manok ko
sa pinggan.
–
Rough line-by-line translation:
From the time I saw
on television
the man rooting
for leftovers
in the trash,
I stopped picking clean
the chicken
on my plate.
Add comment April 27th, 2008
A semblance of peace
It has taken us five years, beloved, to reach this one oasis past the desert of our parting: five years of waiting and walking and looking up at a brilliant sun and walking on again. Five years of numb fingers, parched throats, voiceless mouths. I used to forget to speak, afraid of whatever sea had evaporated in my throat — knowing only heat, salt, friction, restraint. But now there is water, and rest, and the sound of leaves.
I see your face in the water, touch it with palm and fingertip. Ripples carry away fragments of the image, but you remain–
Beloved, after so much dry longing… I am out of the desert, the words are returning, and I can learn, again, how to write.
2 comments April 22nd, 2008
An assortment of colors
Working on layouts for Diwa and Likhain @ Multiply. Diwa is giving me headaches, since I’ll have to learn yet another way to skin a cat– er, the site, or at least the online shop part of it. I don’t really want to use ready-made templates.
Also, I have to work on the site structure…! Rargh.
And I need to change my layout for Miamor…! Rrrr.
Art in progress:
A girl inspired by a line from Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities. Still not sure whether I want to color it or not; the paper’s very thin, so if ever I do I’ll need to use colored pencil or pastel. Click here to view the image sans sidebar clutter.
–
Some finished bits and pieces I forgot to post here (there are more in my Rough art album):
A collage-type card. (I honestly don’t know where that dark spot in the yellow-green part came from. Also, the scanner was sort of wonky when I scanned it, so the yellow-green — more green than yellow, really — came out yellow. Ah well.)
The “under construction” banner for Diwa.
Digital color experiment. Coloring with a mouse is hard, man. Original post here.
–
Okay, I think that sort of made up for the dearth of images here. More to come… eventually!
2 comments April 19th, 2008
Diwa noodling (again)
(Crossposted from Another Miyaw)
You know, when I first thought, “Hey, making pretty stuff is fun! Sharing it with other people is even better!” I wasn’t really thinking in terms of, uh, anything remotely business-like. I had a vague idea I’d sell whatever I made, but it never went beyond a fuzzy concept of buying materials and somehow recouping costs.
And then…!
I got my first order for wedding invitations (40 pieces) last March, and people liked the invites so much they encouraged me to make more cards. (The invitations were very pretty, even though making them caused my hands to hurt for days. I should post pictures. Should be less lazy, rawr.) Since I wanted to make cards, one afternoon I went to Manila with my mother to look for crafty supplies, we found a bead/crystals wholesaler, and… Well, the long and short of it is, aside from cards, I’ll be making jewelry over this summer. (Anyone want customized earrings?) Which is really cool, but also not in the Plan, and therefore very confusing. Also, my father, who is usually the sober, sensible one in the family, is very enthusiastic about the whole… whatever this is, and has actually begun drawing up a price list for the paper goods.
So I have… illustrations and prints to go over (I need to find a better printing service, I don’t like the ones in Katipunan), cards to mail, and then I’ll be doing:
- Designs and drawings for a card series featuring original art (ink and watercolor/pastel/colored pencil). Cards will be accented with crystals and ribbon. (The sparkliez!) There will also be a lo-fi version of this, I think, with prints replacing the original art. Here, looky, this is a scan of the initial ink-on-watercolor paper for the first card:
I think I’ll just add a few more details to her shawl and then I’ll start coloring. These cards, I won’t be making a lot of them, but the ones I do make I’ll work hard on. I noticed that some people frame special cards they get, so maybe these cards could be frame-able too. (On a related note: will probably try my hand at… what do you call those things in shallow boxes/frames, with miniature shelves and jars and all sorts of bric-a-brac glued to a board? –after this summer, I hope.)
- Designs and material-scrounging for bookmarks. Accents: beads and metalwork.
- Earrings and pendants (because I srsly have too many crystals and beads)
…!
!!
!!!
(I want to make mini-notebooks too, but I have to find a cheap paper retailer first. Should go to Recto sometime soon.)
Oh, and:
- Set up online shop at http://diwa.likhain.net, make mirror site at http://likhain.multiply.com (+ contacts); also, get bank account and (maybe… wtf) credit card.
The funny thing is, five years ago I’d have thought this was crazy and laughed it into oblivion. Now I still think it’s crazy, but I’m going through with it anyway.
Add comment April 17th, 2008
Le, From Blossoms
From Blossoms
Li-Young Le
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
–
Oh, to leap from joy to joy. Oh, for wings–!
Add comment April 16th, 2008