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January 12, 2006 - 10:07 a.m.

the colours never match the way i see the world.
kitten nibbling his toes, curling himself in loops, tufts of hair whisping out of his too-big ears,
he tangles in the fabric of whatever he is in the midst of attacking.
i'm trying to organize life, putting myself on track, correcting my course, as I find myself drifting.
i got a letter the other day.
seems i've been short listed for an award, one of 6, one of six,
at an unspecified university, for an unspecified program, to receive, perhaps, the one award available for an unspecified but enviable sum.
the other cat, girl-cat, love-of-my-life, has come to wind her way around my arms as i type, waving her plume of a tail coyly.
i wish i could transpose life now, this moment, into the place i hope to occupy six months from now,
after Europe, after traveling with no home...
to a place with high ceilings and sunlit floors, more room for kitten paws to run scrabbling across smooth surfaces.
art, pouring from mouth to fingers, mind to easel, dripping down in too-heavy streams, leaking from my brain.
i see the dark, muddy fish, swimming in the corners-
all that's left of what you gave me,
the pink inspiration that pushed out colour, green, moss, burning burnt orange and sick yellow.
the mind gets doped-up, on all this distraction and still, i'm not sure why i can't pull it out of this rising water. a pink wall, a chinese lantern, a smear of lips, part of the conversation i can vaguely remember.

8 minutes into the introduction, the woman with the columbian accent asks the speaker... who has just spent 5 of 8 describing her origins,.. 'why do you have a british accent?'

'because i'm from england'

and isn't that the point. we spend so much time asking the questions with the pretense of desiring more...what? understanding? information?
but... are we listening, or just taking in the sound of a voice... trying to speak with out our own accent, in someone else's language, trying to cut the mother tongue out of speech, all the while forcing our second language to sound like our natural voice. that is why when i speak
english sounds like hyperbole, like flight,
like uncaged, disconnected and fragmented thought,
because i'm trying to force my brain into linguistic patterns that feel like acrobatics
i'm trying to force language to feel like thought, replicating the inside
outside my head, on top of my tongue
i am spelling my mind.

dispell.
i remembered a funny story. humour denotes derision. or sometimes not.

i ran into a friend who performs in musical theatre. don't laugh. that's not the funny part. she was in the producers and later, beauty and the beast. catching up on these lost months, i ask,... 'as what?'

'a napkin... with a short stint as a plate, and sometimes a fruit basket'.

in all this time i've spent on applications and resumes ... i've finally found someone with a cv i'd actually find interesting to read.
performer: in what capacity? as a napkin, plate, and occasionally as a fruitbasket.

 

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