“Your past is just a story. And once you realize this, it has no power over you.”
Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
Category Archives: Ginarbe's Diary
The Violin: To My Music
All becomes clear.
The ocean is still the same.
The body disappears
before the crescent-swells,
a fugue at rest
and yet
she returns
among seascapes
a stranger to herself-
her violin lips
asking the wind;
the curls of her hair
are sonnets of the vines;
her eyes are cricket-songs
that grow the night.
All becomes clear.
The earth is still the same.
Sister Emma
The beauty that is my great aunt.
WATCHED: Charlie Chaplin "The Great Dictator" a monologue
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1r0kT4q1B4
"Only the unloved hate, the unloved and the unnatural."
V
How long
Can an archangel,
Both beautiful and insane,
Ask the terrible world
Why a country of my room
Might be listening to only you?
© Ani Boghossian
to Ahava
Dear Ahava,
Changes arrive without making sounds. Its not like a pair of slippers gliding on a wooden floor announcing the arrival of a morning. When the universe shifts itself, we won’t notice anything. Maybe, just maybe, the universe sheds itself everyday, we are reborn everyday.
A single car crash took the lives of a loving couple last night. They got married last August, everything was at their feet, life was only just beginning. The universe sheds itself.
He told me: “a person can change in a single second”. What if it takes less?
The universe takes off its slippers when itsteps into the shower and scrubs its skin off, its soul off, its whole existence… It steps out real, raw and clean. Clean. Maybe we are clean everyday. But we wake up sad from yesterday’s sorrow. Didn’t God say something like that? Maybe assume something like that?
I hope that the shower soap smells of grapes, the dark ones that create wine, not the green sour ones that make children shut their eyes and chew slower.
P.S. your name means love.
to Paramonos
Dear Paramonos,
How can I endure life with these eyes? They tend to cry and wet my palms, my desk, my papers.
Someone found a friend in me. Bit by bit I try to lift her burdens, but now I need to tell her something that will make her burdens heavy again, while also telling her she needs to walk alone? But do we? Maybe God trails us and holds up our bags. So when we feel heaviness its only a tiny portion of what it really is. I try to talk to God but my mind becomes blank, I somehow know he reads my heart. But still I need to utter a prayer, they are designed for us, the prayers. God knows what we want to say before we take a breath and open our mouths, but when we speak it we come close to God. And so, prayers are for us and not for God.
Now it is raining, I have no umbrella, my sight is askew, my heart is beating, raw, real, invisible..
I’ll try to tell my new friend. Somehow.
