narisilme

Adventure over Spring Break

2007-03-28T00:44:00.000-07:00

Just supposing I were to live in Oregon 10 years from now and own a ranch... This picture is my future. Imagine the possibilities.

Call Me Carefree

2007-03-07T17:14:00.000-08:00

I wonder if you’ve ever had home ripped from you
You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry
You wanted to beat your chest
But you stayed stoic
It made more sense
You hadn’t been there for years anyway
It wasn’t really home anyway
You didn’t want to be pitied

It’s a tireless subject and I’m tired of it
It would be pointless to bring it up again
I’m not a real part of it
I didn’t live it
Far and away, that’s where I stayed
Watching the world pass me on a twelve inch screen
That’s where I’d like to stay

Every once in awhile it surprises me, though
I catch myself crying
Suddenly realizing
Why I feel so contorted inside

True Love in Bikerdom

2007-02-03T14:53:00.000-08:00

I used to think bicycle seats caused some discomfort. I, also, used to think of my bike as a horse. (Or, perhaps, that was someone's influence...some confused fellow who tried to decide if my bike was a noble steed or a mare). But, no matter. I've found the solution to all my problems and the answer to all my intuition.

COLLEGE STUDENT SADDLES UP FOR CLASS
College student so-and-so awakened one blustery California morning, brushed his teeth, took a large saddle from the shed, and strapped it to his Cruiser. Yes, folks, I actually saw him on campus--bike, saddle, and all. No time for a picture. I simply thrust myself in his path and begged him to marry me.

Stream of Consciousness

2007-01-24T17:16:00.000-08:00

I have a professor who talks as if he could be a sportscaster. I, also, have a professor who has loafers, pointy hair, and big ears. These guys show potential for a lot of writing material--the former because it seems he stepped straight out of a movie, the latter due to what he teaches.

Loafer man lectures for my "Leadership and Personal Development" class. I look forward to this course a lot. I'll get to look inward more than usual. We get to write journals and supposedly become better leaders.

Sportscaster professes history after the 15th century.

I'm taking the other half of history from man-in-leather-jacket-who-paces-from-one-far-end-of-the-classroom-to-the-other. I wonder if he killed my friend.

So...welcome back.

water, water, do not flee, flood my thoughts, wash over me

2006-11-29T20:35:00.000-08:00

Here's a picture I've been meaning to post for some time. I took this in the sanctuary of my church back in New Orleans. Notice the line left by the flood. They restained the pews before they took off the line. Now it serves as a mark in the history of this church. Look here and see, you future generations. See how God has carried us.

Holy Smokes! I've been tagged.

2006-11-13T22:37:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by bellavoce! And today was a good day. Two good reasons to blog.

Blog tag goes like this: Since I've been tagged, I must write five things about myself. I'm going to try and write five unique things unheard previously by anyone in California. Then I get to tag five people. They will write five things about themselves--whatever they choose to reveal. Thanks to Miss Bellavoce for getting my blogger juices flowing again.

1. In waking up one morning after a storm (was it a hurricane? I cannot remember), I was carried into another room of our apartment. Trashcans sat in different spots of the room collecting water. Yes, New Orleans is perhaps notorious for its storms. It rained and rained so hard that our ceiling had brown spots for years afterward. We painted the ceilings. Another storm hit, causing the paint to warp and form air pockets. I always wanted to pop those air pockets. I think I did.

2. At the age of 10 and 11 I was in my school's traveling production of Dead End Street, a show to drive kids away from drugs. I dressed in ragged clothes, teased my hair, and painted my nostril with lipstick to make it look bloody. I climbed on ladders, beat on trashcans, stomped, and screamed. Those early shows in elementary school shaped me. Thank you, Lusher school, for sharing the gift of art and performance! Thank you for your art classes, your dance troupe, your tap classes, your festivals!

3. Speaking of Lusher school and festivals, my elementary/middle school held the annual Crawfish Boil. I usually kicked off the day performing with the dance troupe. I ate a carton of crawfish with seasoned corn and potatoes. Then, I roamed from the bake sale to the games and back to the bake sale, back to the games. I climbed Jacob's ladder. I bought a plant. I joined in the crawfish races. I bought confetti eggs to crack on the heads of my teachers, friends, and crushes. My parents insisted on taking a picture of Emily and me in front of the old oak tree every year. Ya'll come now!

4. My dad's work hosted an annual crawfish boil, too. It took place on the Sunday of the Thoth parade. Again, I ate crawfish, corn, and potatoes. Everyone chatted in the front yard. Policemen on horseback would pass, signaling the start of the parade. And, oh, here come the bands! And Mount Carmel's "Carmelettes," a local high school's dance squad. Now, the floats! Throw me something, mister! Stuffed animal! I want a stuffed animal! A spear! A spear! Anytime a crewman would pull out a plastic spear, adrenaline would rush over me. Outta my way! I'd get as close as I could to that float, my arms flailing! HAPpy Mardi Gras!

5. My family once dressed up like "Bloomin' Idiots" for Mardi Gras. I must have been two or three--back when Granny Crawford lived near downtown New Orleans. I'm sure my mama could tell you what possessed us to do such a thing or what possessed us to be the Potato Head Family or the Troll Family or the Moo Cow Family, udders and all. I'll never forget my pink velcro sneakers peaking out from under my hooves.

Now, it's your turn!
Yes, you: Rae, Rachel, Ma-Mamushka, Stephen, and Felix!

Violin et. al.

2006-10-03T19:43:00.000-07:00

Why can't I just stick to ONE THING?

Politics. Run away!

2006-09-27T18:15:00.001-07:00

She's going to blog. She is going to blog. Yes, she is going to sit down right now and blog about

anything.

Like toothpaste.

Have you ever tried to pick a toothpaste? Did you see all the choices?
Now how many political parties do you have from to choose?

2. When it gets down to it, you've got two choices. D or R. R or D.
So...does capitalism equal democracy?

This is fresh on the brain. I'm taking American Government from a professor of the left persuasion. I do not care to regurgitate everything I've heard from her. Yet, so much of what we've discussed in class makes sense. Why do we only have two parties that count for anything? Why do we associate the accumulation of material possessions with freedom?

Let's throw poverty into the mix. How does one take care of the poor? You certainly can on a personal level. However, I struggle with our federal government's role. My instincts say, "Government, save your people! Take care of them as you should!" My head says, "The poor you will always have...." I've listened to my head for a long time, passively.

2006-09-08T13:21:00.000-07:00

It's not right for me to let this go on too long--this silent treatment. I haven't drawn inspiration from anything lately. If I do let out what's on my mind, you'll just hear me grappling with cars, pollution, freeways, trash, and a muted sun. And other stuff. Poor wild narisilme.

Silence...just a little while longer.

"It's too darn hot"

2006-07-27T23:02:00.000-07:00

Here's what I mean when I say, "It's hot:"

I am reading The Wind in the Willows and War and Peace. I was reading a little of Le Journal d'Anne Frank. I am looking at a year's worth of photos over and over and over again. I go to Michael's. I go to Barnes & Noble. I'm 21 years old and I'm learning to drive. I'm going to Arkansas tomorrow! (Viva la Rachel!)

Et maintenant en francais. Je voudrais dire, mes amis d'une annee bien passee a Aix, que vous me manquez. Je vais bien. Je lis. J'ecris. Je peins. Pas mal comme ete, non? Je vous remercie encore pour cette annee ensemble. J'ai beacoup appris grace a vous. Vous m'avez inspire. Je vois certainement qu'il me faut continuer a ecrire en francais sinon je perds tous!

2006-07-22T20:34:00.000-07:00

Meet Peaman

An ordinary guy
Hard to come by
Terribly shy
Civil and sly
My, oh, my

3 hours of watching for this?

2006-07-09T14:20:00.000-07:00

Did I say red, white, and blue? I meant red, white, and green.

Nah, it was a good game and fun to see the Italians and their long hair jump up and down.

Vive La France!!! even though they lost the World Cup.

How y'all doin?

2006-07-08T17:22:00.000-07:00

So heeeeeere's Texas or me preppin for Texas. Next time I ought to get me a pair of jeans. And then I ought to strap a guit-ar to my back. The soccer shorts just don't cut it. While I'm on the subject of soccer, I'd like to mention that France plays Italy tomorrow. Maybe France beats Italy tomorrow. If it does, the whole country will go on holiday. I'll be in Texas wearing red, white, and blue. Now just who's red, white, and blue?

Photo by Little B.

Je pars!!!

2006-06-15T14:13:00.000-07:00

Incoming. Watch out!

My mama said I need to come home before I vaporize. She may have a point.

2006-06-12T03:57:00.000-07:00

While talking to Courtney yesterday, I suggested that leaving France is like dying slowly. (To this, she responded, "Now's the time to write!"). You see, when speaking French, I already feel myself losing words and the American accent shows itself once again. But we're okay. I heard that the French never goes away entirely. It just a matter of shaking it awake from time to time.

I, also, talked to Sunny yesterday (she's my "stuffed" rabbit--although she doesn't much like that term). I said, "Sunny, it's alright, you're gonna see Pat soon." At that moment, oddly enough, I felt a weight lifted off my chest. I hadn't said anything to Sunny in a good long time. And I certainly hadn't thought of Pat or Mr. Bean or any other furry friends. If I had, they were simply my "stuffed" animals, not the friends I know them to be. Shocking, I know. So, while this year is unforgettable, an experience full of color, taste, and poetry, I feel as if I slipped into the adult world.

I saw Monsieur Mont Sainte-Victoire on Saturday from a distance at dusk. His voice softly rumbles through grasses and pines. I hope it can travel over oceans, too.

2006-06-08T08:13:00.000-07:00

Becky, the archaeology major, said, "Wow, that's a big pot!"

Sur Le Cours Mirabeau

Rue du Quatre-Septembre

CSU Office

Scottish? Aie.

2006-06-08T07:57:00.000-07:00

The other side

2006-06-08T04:19:00.000-07:00

There's some sort of plasmic, magnetic, what have you, field between here and HOME. The others are falling through, one by one. "Rie left the 23rd." "Ah, oui." "And you?" "The 16th." "That's soon." "Ah, oui." It's as if you're gone forever once on the other side. You're not. You'll see the others in the future. But, will you ever be on this side of the shield at a moment like this, talking of Taiwanese government or a certain professor who smoked too much? The sun is brillant now. The tourists pass through like ants. Aix is chic-er than ever before with it's cafés, boutiques, and markets. I finally feel like a part of the charm--never true Frenchie, but charming. I lived here. I've seen the streets in focus and out.

I'm struggling with my feelings for this place, wanting to love it for the sun, knowing the loneliness it provoked. I'm struggling with my feelings for America, wanting to love it for it's love and hate it for it's hate. I know that I don't hate America. I feel a greater love. I now understand what it means to be American. It's not America that hoards and abuses as it pleases, but people make a mess--whether in the US, France, Japan, Taiwan, Russa...

I want to detest. I want to be discontented with every country I cross. I no longer like this earth. Honestly. Give me something else.

Give me God. Once again, my rambling points me in one direction. I want to find beauty, My Dear, and swim again through peace or daffodils or clouds or iced tea. I want to let go. I'm gripping something but don't know what it is and I want to release. I can't. Or won't. I want to be the thorn in Your side, My Dear.

...

Are we really in June?

2006-06-02T02:23:00.000-07:00

I was in Scotland but I might as well have dropped off the face of the earth since then. I'm already back in Aix with two weeks to go. Warsaw and Budapest seem like a dream--which is how it usually goes. Even Giverny, with its smiling blooms and lethargic lillies, is only just there where I can no longer touch.

There are books to ship and clothes to pitch, music to buy, cafés to sip.
Maybe I sound like I've got it all together, but I don't.

I can't help but need to hear someone's heart beat for me.
Architecture can only reach so far. A Japanese bridge can only inspire so many.

What fuels me is the beat of a sister, a mama, a father, a brother...
I'll go speak some French, live it up with the locals and my Japanese.
But I love you.

Popcorn anyone?

2006-05-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

When we got to the hostel in Edinburgh, Scotland, the girl at the front desk told us there was a free walking tour everyday at 11am and a free popcorn everyday at 7pm. We did the walking tour this morning. We visited a castle in the afternoon. We painted a little. At 7 we rushed back to the hostel for that free popcorn. As we busted through the door, someone said, "Are you guys ready for the pub crawl?"

Pub crawl? Pop corn?

Either we are really naive or they don't speak English properly.

An artist's pilgrimage

2006-05-20T12:30:00.000-07:00

School's out meaning there's only one thing left to do. You know.

This time it's over to Scotland, Poland, Hungary, and the grand finale, Paris. I'm taking off with my Prague buddy, Mademoiselle Courtney. However, at the end of our trip, I'll tackle Paris alone. Well, not Paris but close. Giverny (i.e. Monet's Gardens). I'm taking the pastel pencils along this time.

Walking down the streets of Aix, I feel dazed. Where does time go and why does God let us lose our memory? So I'll take the pencils along to capture what I can, and the rest I'll leave to my imagination.

What's that you say?

2006-05-20T12:06:00.000-07:00

Beware of little French men whispering in your ear

Third year down, how many more to go?

2006-05-19T09:08:00.000-07:00

I finished my last exam! There's no other point to this post other than to really rub it in, you know, milk it for all it's worth.

Ireland

2006-05-17T02:31:00.000-07:00

Precisely

The edge of the world (Part II)

My cousin Sean

Tradition

2006-05-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

Aix is fountainous. There are a great number of fountains found in various plazas, nooks, and crannies. There is a tradition, too. Well, maybe it's not a tradition, but I like to think so. As a student in Aix, one has to make a tour of the fountains at least once. By that I mean one waits until an unspeakable hour in the morning and one goes swimming. In the fountains. In an hour, we hit 9. There was, after all, some delay with police and so forth. The highlight of the evening? We trodded through the murky waters of La Rotonde, this city's largest fountain and postcard landmark.