Monday is when you're in-between weeks.

At least, I am.

Watching "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" is just the sort of thing that could get one fired up on a Monday morning. More so since it came after the reading of Margaret Atwood's The Penelopiad just a week ago--in a parked car, surrounded by twilight.

Homer's been in my thoughts, lately.

But Lou Reed died yesterday, and the local elections are well underway. All in all, a gloomy morning.

October 27th was also Sylvia Plath's birthday. I remember reading her Unabridged Journals a few years ago and being struck (and left thinking about it for days) by how she was much the same person, inside and outside her poems.

Have a good one.

With a thud

On my FB wall: These past weeks have made me realize that not all minds are broad enough to house the lengths and widths and chasms and heights of the universe. As it is, I am thankful to have friends who I am able to see eye to eye with, given the free reign I allow my perspective, and the hatred I have for boxing things up.


There's a bit of frustration in those lines, to be truthful. Prior to the number of epiphanies that I had this past week, I'd carried on as if the rest of the world were in tune with my ways of thinking, were on the same wavelength I had placed (or found) myself. Which was, I realized, downright stupid of me to assume; just because we belonged to the same generation (more, or less) didn't mean our minds operated the same way. 


Again, Chanson: upbringing, environment, books read (or, lack of), music consumed, tears shed (or, absence of), cakes deprived of (or, grown fat from), battles fought (or, run away from) --so, stop dreaming that all the world will ever be in one platform. Sheesh.