Wednesday, March 30, 2005

A wee bit tired. Had an interesting, near-disastrous, fire-fighting conversation with someone from way back in the annals of my neuroses. Serendipitous, accidental and almost ludicrous. I wasn't meant to have the conversation but did accidentally make contact if only because I have been living on too much coffee. The incident itself is fairly trivial, but for the issues it brings up.

I sometimes wonder at the inadequacy of my coping mechanisms. Dysfunctional, inefficient and incomplete. Watch this space for more details.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

How does one take away the intense, visceral notion of home without abrading something or the other? How does one hold and let go in the same instance? How does one remember without wanting to explain and set to rest?

I lay out and examine evidence of my origins, weekend after weekend only to forget it between Saturdays... except of course as testimony to my right to scholarship and guidelines to my race. But then it rains and washed away all resolve. It rains and pours and it is the same downpour and the same rivulets and I float my boat backward and regress. My mind recalls voices and smells and sounds and silences. It fashions simultaneity in past worlds and while fighting to keep pace with this one. It reminds me that this is possible even if painful. It grapples with mature presence while insisting on its right to be petulant. Small little ethereal entity pummeling at thin air and lightning streaks. Sometimes, I feel sorry for the travails of my mind.

They tell me that nostalgia is false and longing elusive. They write that structures of feeling are only real inasmuch as they point to economies, migrations, materialities and motilities. I tell myself that it is all but a way to pass time. This is my dream world and that other phantasmagoric dream is my home and one is no truer than the other. And truth has no value and there is no truth.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

She hated him. On first sight. Hated, detested, abhorred, reviled. But then she also had the same kind of passionate hate for ingrown toe-nails, papayas and red ties. Hate then becomes a misnomer, a shortcut to describe incompatibility and irritation. A state of not-getting-along. He then was nothing but an exaggerated peeve. But that was not what she would say. The word she used was hate.
Why you must let it grow

So its rivers lie dreaming,
across the moon in your sheets at night
so its one million gnats of electricity
pulse in agreement as you negotiate the hours

so lovers, current and future, can lose their fingers
in its dark well of echo stories
so it swoops like sea gulls, dizzy with speed
everytime you unwittingly bend to tie your laces

so winds may concur in wide eyed unison
as they plunge down its slippery stairs
so it is again densely populated with voices,
the shadow secrets of dusk

so you catch his double take
from the corner of your eye
when you throw your head back and laugh

Well Phil, it's growing!!!

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

And the break is over and I'm back knee-deep and head down into the rest of the semester. My paper submissions have been accepted but with a fair number of edits, so have to get those out of the way by the second week of April. Different matter that they are all basically the same thing with different titles;) and additions and subtractions. But hell, they look good on the résumé.
Mexico was beeeyutiful and so much like des. Chaos and mayhem and madness. And noise and warmth. Cuatro Cienegas was lovely for about half a day before our camp got rained out by the only thunderstorm of the year. Very pretty nevertheless, desert and sand and pond and life. We then shut camp and headed out driving to Saltillo and Monterrey. The former is a very pretty old colonial town with kitschy cafés and quaint plazas and cathedrals and the latter a huge, swanky, industrial and business centre. Four days of 360 degree sensorama. All in all, a very satisfying break. If I ever emigrate it will be to Mexico.

I think what I enjoyed most was the slowing down. The erasure of neurosis. I could reduce pace, forget about desire and need and longing and loss and erase all writing and reading. Replace it with blankness and two-dimensional physicality. Pure, unadulterated distance.

That's what I need right now. Distance. Critical disjuncture.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

And apparently, I do!!! Travel that is...Monday I take off hiking and camping to this place!!!

And the mid-terms are done, for my students that is and grading is taken care of and I still have twenty grant proposals to write. All that can however wait because tonight, tonight I sleep:)

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Tomorrow, I find out if I get to travel for spring break. Else, I'm just going camping anyway. Or travelling east to visit junta. Maybe drop in and see Rups and then the bro. Should be fun. But I really should be thinking about my prospectus too. And summer. And India! So much to do and so little inclination!

Sunday, March 06, 2005

If I were rain and fire, and light and ether, and darkness and magic, what would I do with all the constant movement, the tireless energy? Would I step out of myself and write endless computer programs for maxiumum utilization of energy and potential? Or would I watch the spectacle of glory and vainglory in endless fascination of empty wonder? Or would I give it all away for lifelessness?
Weather: Rainy
Head: Stormy
Mood: Mercurial

On the playlist:

Pyar Mein Sau Uljhanein Hain
Rapsodie Espagnole
Tubular Bells
Beggar's Opera
Stray Cat Strut
Seene Mein Jalan
Zihale Miskin
Bohemian Rhapsody
This Love
Ek Akela Is Sheher Mein
Ruby my red
Tujhse Naraaz Nahi Zindagi


Saturday, March 05, 2005

My brains are fried, fried, fried. Between resumes, articles, readings and grades, I am more than ready to get onto the next plane homebound. And then what? F*&% knows and f*&* cares!!!

Too much coffee I figure is very bad for health and sanity. But then, so is too much sleep. One as you might have figured by now, cancels out the other. Coffee and sleep dunderheads, not health and sanity.

If I ever get out of here,
Thought of giving it all away
To a registered charity.
All I need is a pint a day
If I ever get out of here.

- Band on the Run

Thursday, March 03, 2005

So much to do and so little certainty. Such little control. Such inability to make a decision.

Where do I want to be?
Corporate India?
Corporate America?
Non-profit India?
Non-profit America?

I have no friggin’ clue, all I feel right now is irretrievably trapped! Between asceticism and heteronomy, I see no way out.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

I wonder at the utility of this space. I don't give away facts, fantasies or stories. All I have are words and movement...momentary sparklers swung by nimble wrists through ether and air. What manner of voyeur are you that come back to this mirage, this muslin web?