Soundlessness

I have found that I have been going hours, days without uttering a single sound. I hear only the constant click of the keys as I type.

Sometimes I find myself opening the curtains to look for other students on the sidewalks, convinced of the possibility that the world had come to some fiery end outside while I spent the day writing grants or outlining a dog burial typology. I think thoughts like, "That will be too bad if everyone is gone. Who will read my typology now?" I look out the window again.

After days of soundlessness you find even the most minute of noises bothersome and seemingly disturbing. The other night while lying in bed trying to sleep, with my eyes wide open, I stared at the dancing red dust I often see while staring into the dark. "Some blood vessel trick, some adjustment to the low light by my cornea" I told myself, but something wasnt right. This noise, this noise. grrrrrUK! grrrrrUK! Faint, but repeating, seemed to be far away, but close enough so that the sharp sting of its crescendo irked me. I searched. Where was it? Under my bed? I leaned over to look. grrrrUK! What the fuck. I leaned to the other side. grrrrUK. I sit straight up in bed, quickly. GRRRRUK! "OH. What an idiot" I think to myself as I realized that the springs of my bed made a creak that suspiciously corresponded with my every movement. I put in my earplugs and return to the calming silence.

The poet Jack Spicer writes about the desire to create poems without sound:

“I would like to make poems out of real objects. The lemon to be a lemon that the reader could cut or squeeze or taste—a real lemon like a newspaper in a collage is a real newspaper. I would like the moon in my poems to be a real moon, one which could be suddenly covered with a cloud that has nothing to do with the poem—a moon utterly independent of images. The imagination pictures the real. I would like to point to the real, to make a poem that has no sound in it but the pointing of a finger.”

Little Tough, Little Soft

Im really loving this blog lately. A city girl visits her small hometown. Meets a rugged cowboy. Falls in love. Marries said cowboy and lives a ranch life with him. True story! Sounds like a movie right? Apparently, it might be.

Not only is it a truly sweet love story, which she describes in detail, but she has really gorgeous photographs, good recipes and just plain entertaining blog posts. There is something undeniably fulfilling about country life and she captures it really well. Reading her blog makes me want to go work my grandparents farm in Kansas. Plow fields. Run cattle. Grow crops. Put in a hard day of work.

Simple Pleasures

One of the great joys of being the only person to read my own blog is that I feel no apprehension posting about my minute obsessions with random objects.

It is not often that I take time from my busy dog burial research schedule (yes, I typed that with a straight face) to think about something else, but ever since I saw the new Jeffrey Campell Mary Rocks shoe six months ago it has been itching at me. Finally, bought! Sure, by the time it is shipped to me in mid-May I will have wished I spent that money on the research material I desperately need, but at least I will look good walking to the library.

Its the little things.

Also, tonight I am eating Khazak horse meat.

One of my favorites:

Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chisled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.

-Love Letter, Sylvia Plath

Sleeping Like a Hunter-Gatherer

Recently, problems sleeping.

The intricacies of day-to-day life, a busy mind, flowing ideas, mental accuracy, the inability to clear thoughts. All this mixed with the created lifestyle we surround ourselves with can lead to severe problems, including insomnia. I have begun to consider how much better my sleep would be if I followed the lead of hunter-gatherers.

Eat well. Healthy, fresh foods. Solid, balanced meals without overfilling yourself or skipping meals. Also, meals eaten in a timely manner, not right before bed, but when it is light out, the light necessary for hunting your prey, then skinning and butchering it and preparing it for cooking.

A day full of physical activity, vibrancy, intensive thought involving complicated decisions. Strenuous activity leads to restful, solid, enjoyable sleep.

Waking up early and getting your day started off right. Sleeping too late in the hunter-gatherer world might lead to attack by neighboring groups, attack by animals, missing hunting opportunities, not enough time in the day to get all your tasks done. Must get up and get going!

Winding down in the evening towards bedtime. Letting your mind rest without the technological stimulation it has been enduring throughout the day. Dim light, soft sounds, the crackling and mesmerizing flame of a hunter-gatherer fire.

I imagine that an early-rising, well-exercised, well-fed, active hunter-gatherer must have gotten/must get an amazingly satisfying night of sleep.

Sweet Survival

Recently I have been obsessed with the thought of delicious foods made from surprising things. Im not sure if it has something to do with exposure to ingredients in the UK that I am not terribly familiar with or not. My latest idea has been sustaining the smells and tastes of events that make people happy (like Christmas) into unusual food combinations.

I give you: Christmas Pine Ice Cream!

Im not sure where I came up with this. Something about wanting the smell of Christmas when it is hot out in the summer. I cant find any recipe anywhere online for it, which I like. I figure if I get some pine needles or resin I can make this fairly easily.

On a side note, while searching for all things pine I came across this website which gives useful survival tips, including making pine needle tea if you are lost in the forest to stave off scurvy. Who knew?

Eternal Happiness

What makes you happy?

Do you, like me, find that a good song can instantly put you in a mood? Like a time machine it returns you to a place or moment in your life.

Here are some of mine:

Flaming Lips - All We Have Is Now

ELO - Livin' Thing

Simon & Garfunkel - Scarborough Fair

Gwen Stefani - Underneath It All

Bee Gees - I Started a Joke