n i g h t i n g a l e s h i r a z / blog
To Autumn

june 2017
march 2017
february 2017
january 2017
november 2016
october 2016
september 2016
august 2016
july 2016
june 2016
may 2016
april 2016
march 2016
february 2016
december 2015
november 2015
october 2015
september 2015
may 2015
march 2015
february 2015
january 2015
december 2014
november 2014
october 2014
september 2014
august 2014
may 2014
april 2014
march 2014
february 2014
*april 2013
*march 2013
*february 2013
*january 2013
*december 2012
*november 2012
*october 2012
*september 2012
*july 2012
*october 2011
*september 2011
*august 2011
*july 2011
*june 2011
*may 2011
april 2011
march 2011
april 2010
march 2010
february 2010
january 2010
december 2009
november 2009
september 2009
june 2009
may 2009
february 2009
january 2009
december 2008
october 2008
september 2008
august 2008
july 2008
june 2008
may 2008
april 2008
january 2008
december 2007
november 2007
october 2007
september 2007
august 2007
july 2007
june 2007
may 2007
april 2007
march 2007
february 2007
january 2007
december 2006
november 2006
october 2006
september 2006
august 2006
july 2006
june 2006
may 2006
april 2006
march 2006
february 2006
january 2006
december 2005
november 2005
october 2005
september 2005
august 2005
july 2005
june 2005
may 2005
april 2005
march 2005
february 2005
january 2005
december 2004
november 2004
october 2004
september 2004
august 2004
july 2004
june 2004
may 2004
april 2004
march 2004
february 2004
january 2004
december 2003
june 2003
april 2003
march 2003
 
You Are the Girl

No one must speak to you in the mornings.  This is the secret.  In the mornings when the people in your dreams are still packing their things, sliding their arms into sensible winter coats one by one, looking at you with eyes gone dark already.

***

Confession Books in Dubai.  Drip Date Café.  Ice skating and Al Nasr Cinema and crying when Mufasa died.  Your brother in a band called Evenly Odd.  The drummer, Wahid, couldn't afford the real deal so he used a little stool, the top of which was a round cushion covered over in tight blue pleather.  He had real drumsticks though.  And the sound was satisfying enough.  You can't remember for sure if you had a crush on Wahid for a while.  You suspect you had a crush on all your brother's friends for a while.  But you can remember he wrote the words “The Cars” all over his white canvas sneakers, over and over again, in big and small and tall and skinny letters.  “The Cars” and “The Cars” and “The Cars.”  You can remember you wanted to be a drummer.

***

It's important.  No one must speak to you in the mornings.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Giulio Cesare, Santa Marinella]
[mercoledì 28 ottobre 2015 ore 08:49:44] []

A Kind of Cheating: Scraps from Last October

You would imagine that a morning in which you wake up humming woohoo you're a miracle worker, might be a good morning.

***

Dreambit: Auri talking about guitar-frets, how he still likes them even if some people pooh-pooh.  A house with awesome records; he keeps finding finds and surprising us – wait till you hear this and everyone waits, everyone stops and waits for the opening bars and the moment when they know it.  On one song, I get it when she starts singing, that’s when I know.  It's later than it should be but it's before anyone else and I'm proud, hoping that he is too.  See? I'm your sister.  I get you.

***

It's not that the unexamined life is not worth living.  Life is always worth living for the person who's living it, even if he's not examining it.  Even if he's not aware of himself and the things that make him who and what he is, the things that don't, the things that matter, the things that won't.  It's just that I can't muster much interest, in that kind of person.

(Life is too short for mediocre conversations.)

***

On page seventeen of seventeen, you drink black tea with brown sugar.  With long-life milk that makes a color like you when you're home.

***

And yet another kind of pointless anger: When you stumble onto the fact, three months later, that some asshole did broadcast your mother's death on Facebook, after all.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Giulio Cesare, Santa Marinella]
[lunedì 26 ottobre 2015 ore 09:13:48] []

Because this week, she is coming in kaleidoscopic.

Because on Tuesday there will be Charles Simić, and maybe he will read this, maybe.  Because fall is a good time to talk about dreambooks and coatlessness.  Because it's a certain kind of time in this particular world.  Because it's October, and maybe also because for some of us there are more horrors these days, than the ones that have to do with Halloween.

Because tonight I found this, and it made me happy.

This too.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Giulio Cesare, Santa Marinella]
[domenica 25 ottobre 2015 ore 20:26:26] []