The Wind -Up Bird Chronicle.

Finally finished The Wind Up Bird Chronicle - and how refreshing it is to dance with story lines that only lead to mystery and back to one's own mind to search for answers, to rest immersed a plot that does not explain and reconcile everything away, in that smug Hollywood-story-line way that leaves nothing to the imagination. When I first encountered that kind of storytelling a long time ago, it used to make me uncomfortable, now I am always so hungry for that cerebral stretch, and so grateful when I find it. Thank you Murakami

Heritage

I made Bushala, Assyrian soup, tonight for my dearest Nana, who hasn't been feeling well (guided by the wisdom of ages of her careful direction). We sat at the table and enjoyed wholesome, steaming bowls. And the more of her bowl she drank, the more she seemed to become enlivened. My dad walked by and took a taste despite himself and his dinner waiting for him in the oven. Then he took a second one. Then he took a cup full and sat down with us. Grandmother, father, daughter, enjoying the food of our heritage, just the three of us together. 

Dysmorphia

Me. Photographed by husband; tattoo by Luke Stewart; original artwork by Krithika Muthukamar.

My painting tonight. Acrylic on recycled canvas (work in progress).

I just want to start this over. I know the pieces fit.

TOOL - SOBER

There's a shadow just behind me

Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me
Waiting like a stalking butler
Who upon the finger rests
Murder now, the pattern called "must we"
Just because the son has come

Jesus,wont you fucking whistle ?
Something but the past and done
Jesus, wont you fucking whistle
Something but the past and done

Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start this over
Why can't we drink forever?
I just want to start this over

I am just a worthless liar
I am just an imbecile
I will only complicate you
Trust in me and fall as well
I will find a centre in you
I will chew it up and leave
I will work to elevate you
Just enough to bring you down

Mother Mary, won't you whisper?
Something but what's past and done
Mother Mary, won't you whisper?
Something but what's past and done

Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start this over
Why can't we sleep forever?
I just want to start this over
And why?

I am just a worthless liar
I am just an imbecile
I will only complicate you
Trust in me and fall as well
I will find a centre in you
I will chew it up and leave

Trust me
Trust me
Trust me
Trust me
Trust me

Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start things over
And why can't we sleep forever?
I just want to start this over
And why?

I want it when I want it
I want it when I want it
I want it when I want it
I want it when I want it

__________________________________________

TOOL - SCHISM

I know the pieces fit
'Cause I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smouldering
Fundamental differing
Pure intention juxtaposed
Will set two lovers' souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes
Testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then
Has a burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end
Crippling our communication

I know the pieces fit
'Cause I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame
It doesn't mean I don't desire to
Point the finger, blame the other
Watch the temple topple over
To bring the pieces back together
Rediscover communication

The poetry
That comes from the squaring off between
And the circling is worth it
Finding beauty in the dissonance

There was a time that the pieces fit
But I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smouldering
Strangled by our coveting
I've done the math enough to know
The dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow
And strengthen our communication
Cold silence has
A tendency to
Atrophy any
Sense of compassion
Between supposed brothers
Between supposed lovers

I know the pieces fit
I know the pieces fit
I know the pieces fit
I know the pieces fit
I know the pieces fit
I know the pieces fit
I know the pieces fit
I know the pieces fit

I miss my husband.

Her Loins In Petrograd

Moved out of my art studio today. One one of the hardest things I've ever done, to my unexpected surprise. But a lot of things happening today. It's Mom's birthday, wherever she is...in her mind...So crying with my wine and my unicorn, crying so hard the corner store guy gave me my bottle for free.

Listening to The Decemberists - Picaresque, and wishing my Mom a Happy Birthday, and crying....

Die Form

One of the strangest, most haunting, and beautiful musical artist groups I have ever had the pleasure of discovering and the time and space to listen to.

Song: Cantique II

Album: Suspiria De Profundis