I kind of forgot to post on my blog earlier today. I got distracted by something inside my brain. So here's a nonnet, anyway.
I know when I walk to work each day
the best route is based on timing. The intersections are slow if you miss the signals. The first light I meet, exiting my apartment, sets my path.
[daily log: walking, but not to work]
Today in an email someone asked,
"How do you get from A to B?" He meant emotionally. I think there's no movement. You just teleport, like first dying, then coming back to life.
I say to myself. "Buy it later." I'm out of butter. So for a day or two, my oatmeal has no butter. I don't know why I do this thing: my system of small asceticisms.
"Oh my. That's not good." She made a face. "But it's upside down." I pointed at the card. "True," she admitted, smiling. The Tarot card looked so scary. "It means you should be dead. But you're not."
There is a song about Bob Dylan.
Its title is "Diamonds and Rust." Joan Baez wrote the lyrics and sang the moody song. The MP3 track plays on my phone. I watch clouds shaped like sighs.
One day, Beowulf decided that he should probably just give up on monsters. He moved down to Italy, and rented a Tuscan villa. Still, some nights, he awoke from bad dreams.
I looked up at the sky forelornly.
It was supposed to rain today. There were only a few clouds. I felt a slight breeze blow. A magpie strode past, head cocked down. Just a flash: some blue; black.
I'm not a hero like Gilgamesh.
Not once did I battle monsters, although sometimes I have died, journeying like a ghost through the underworld like Enkidu, that loyal, friendlike dog.
I was struck with a weird nostalgia
as I walked toward Jeongbal hill. I sat on a bench and watched the people going by. The overcast sky seemed to convey a kind of empty pain.
The biggest holiday of the year
in Korea is called Chusok. This year it's a bit early. "Korean Thanksgiving" celebrates harvests and ancestors, so people travel home.
lo sé. De veras, no sé porque no sé, tampoco. Sin embargo, puedo imaginar razones porque no sé. Por ejemplo: penas epistemológicas.
don't know. Truthfully I don't know why I don't know, either. Nevertheless, I can imagine some reasons why I don't know. For example: epistemological troubles.
Recently I read the tide's turning
among linguists, who now reject Chomskyan orthodoxy. That linguist's ideas about how words work always seemed wrong. I think words' syntax drifts.
I had let my nonnet-writing slide
during the last several days, but I wrote this here nonnet during a break at work, just now, to have one which I could post on my blog. It's not good.
I had never intended to age.
Yet each year slyly captures me. It tends to be annoying. Nevertheless, I cope. The main thing: just breathe. If you do that, you can live till next year.
North of the Ten Freeway at Rosemead,
a place redolent of regrets, honeysuckle and asphalt, I received some treatments which electrified the aches and pains which haunted my lost mind.
I was gazing up at the green trees,
meandering to work one day, and that Lou Reed song came on. "What makes a perfect day?" I wondered and thought: "Not.much more than quite simply saying so."
In my most advanced Tuesday cohort
there is a student named David. I think he's full of anger. When he gets a low score his face scrunches up, he shouts at me, he hits desks, he cries, "No."
I made this nonnet after reading the article I mentioned in my previous blog post.
A new rain of unfortunate ants
has arrived, my fellow workers! Let's welcome them to our dark yet thriving, cold abode! Let's show them the walls! Let's move this dirt! Let's begin to eat(,) ants!
Grasping the atmosphere like despair,
the humidity guards the dusk. The equinox approaches. A hazy twilight hangs. My expectation helps me walk home, awaiting longer nights.
the sun was glaring, a cloud drifted meditatively across a hazy sky, but the cloud failed to commit to any kind of rainmaking. It felt no inclination for mud.