an afterthought to self:

you know how hard it is for you everyday

to find a matching pair of socks

in your cupboard

in a city you have lived only

for six months. now think about the world

and the billion people

and love again.

such rubbish the mind makes

what if you collected everything that makes love,

that you love, that feels love,

would it be love?

and then if someone found it

rotting years later in the box in your bed,

would they find love?

and if you forgot about it

and thought you lost it

and then suddenly remembered

where its been, would it be

lost and found love?

is life like this?

like language?

where a word here or there

makes a huge difference

to the sense it makes.

I want to write today.

Awake early with dreams like the empty of an eaten watermelon.. I want to write about the silence of not knowing what to say, when you want to say a lot and quickly. I want to write today about the many confusions of knowing many and more and more good people and having to arrange them in an order and love them in that order. I want to write about how it is impossible to put a patten onto your life and then live it, knowing the limits. I want to to write about making a choice and going at it head on and not changing, not thinking about the lose ends. Today makes me want to take my life and butcher it up, (like the movie butterfly effect) and make another mess and another mess and leaving it at a mess for I have done enough in this mess I live to experiment, and I'm not yet sure it was something I regret . Today I want to write about the intense dissatisfaction I have being myself, and being myself in the lives of people I love. Today I want to write about those feelings I am that I wish I wasn't. (Tomorrow this writing will be on of those feelings.) Today, I want to write about how much I am willing of forgetting myself sometimes, but waking early the next morning I begin to think and hate and worry again about myself. Today, to write anything, is to put down my worry, my frown, that cold shiver that went down my spine when I thought of how I loved and hated, of how I live in a country with a billion people who similarly love and hate and wake up early in the morning.. and have no teeth and are bleeding internally, or having their breakfast and leaving in a hurry, or just are reading the newspaper . Of these people, the ones I know, what have I done in their lives?

and sometimes

wanting to help someone

I don't know how honest it is.

How much is it a help

to your idea of hope.

but at least it is help to another.

and how bad can that be.

Just a quick one to say what I feel about what I'm doing when I'm performing.

I said a little while back, that you can be an activist, fighter pilot, doctor saving million lives and I could be an insignificant, often injured performer, offering only a few moments of intrigue or beauty.. but we are all here to learn our lessons and there is nothing more real than that.

So I just want to say my very fresh thoughts about the stage and me. I felt, today, sitting in the theatre in Seoul like I was 60 and looking back at what I've done with the stage so far. Although I've just shaken hands with Mr. Stage. really. I could say meeting the stage was pretty much meeting my first boyfriend. I fell in love not knowing what it was really about (with the stage and the boy roughly the same time) At first i was fascinated with this thing called performance, because everyone was and there was nothing majorly wrong about it so why not be fascinated.. then there was a time when the stage was there and I wasn't sure about what I could do with it. Today, when I walked into the theatre I was happy to have all these thoughts melt away. Today, when the lights came on me and my injured body ( not as scary as it sounds.. well so far.. i'm fine) I knew what to do here, I knew I'm here because I can do something with this, and that 6 years of waiting around prompting lines, lifting staircases dressed in all black, putting flowers in green rooms, designing costumes and peering from the light room to hear the cue have not disappeared into nothingness. Today, there was a playfulness. There was no distance between me and the stage, a cold uncomfortable one, or the strangeness of the eyes behind the curtain of light. I was there to say something and it was as real as sitting across you at a table telling you a story.

Making a dance piece or working on a play didn't feel a big thing. I'm always iffy about a new book of white pages. As much as I want the newness I'm afraid I wont be able to go through the whole thing, keep myself consistent and finish it. Just like a dance peice, now I know slowly putting things together isn't tough and I can do it.

No performance can wholly contain a performer, its a slice of what we can do and sometimes like in my case, you can only do a slice.

i tried to refrain..

but I really want to sign off as Peena Ouch.

(like Pina Bausch you know)

Specialization is for Insects

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

-Robert A. Heinlein

Jesse: Do you believe in reincarnation?

Celine: Yeah. Yeah, it's interesting.

Jesse: Yeah, right. Well, most people, you know, a lot of people talk about past lives and things like that, you know? And even if they don't believe it in some specific way, you know, people have some kind of notion of an eternal soul, right?

Celine: Yeah.

Jesse: OK, well this was my thought: 50,000 years ago, there are not even a million people on the planet. 10,000 years ago, there's, like, two million people on the planet. Now there's between five and six billion people on the planet, right? Now, if we all have our own, like, individual, unique soul, right, where do they all come from? You know, are modern souls only a fraction of the original souls? 'Cause if they are, that represents a 5,000 to 1 split of each soul in the last 50,000 years, which is, like, a blip in the Earth's time. You know, so at best we're like these tiny fractions of people, you know, walking...I mean, is that why we're so scattered? You know, is that why we're all so specialized?

Celine: I don't know. Wait a minute, I'm not sure...I don't...

Jesse: Yeah, hang on, hang on. It's a, it's a totally scattered thought. It...which is kind of why it makes sense.

random quotes off the internet and the film Before Sunrise which make sense together

with the chat with Suneel.

woof woof

Mahima and me seem to be on something here. sending across words to each other. just a word a day and what we think about it, and what it thinks about us..

when life's a bitch, bitches are friends :P

In Korea a dog barks mung mung, in India it barks bhoa bhao, in the rest of the world i think its woof woof.

the learning matrix called life

You can be a fighter. I can be a dancer.

you can be a writer. I can be a singer.

you can be a poet and I can be a cook.

you can be a gamer and i can be a sports star.

we're here to learn our lessons and we'll learn them anyway. together or away.

What you learn as a CEO might be the same as the security guard.

and thats all that matters - the learning.

in the process, you may create beauty, you may rebel against injustice, you may fill the world with love, feed people or save lives...sometimes I wonder what is the right thing to do. Does filling the world with beauty and saying something about something else qualify as a job? Yes, it may be inspiration, yes it may make life more interesting for people, make us a better civilisation, but does it really matter if I'm a dancer and you are a poet fighter writer cook?

sometimes, i think I rather own roadside cafe, or restaurant and feed people till midnight. where i read tarot and talk to people about things they have given up on.anyhoo, a dancer i am now... so my learning lies here.

..

I think blogs are dying. Blogger is no longer a place you can walk into somebody's life's worth of poems, angst or drawings. Its been ages since I found someone who didn't blog about their day at school.

major pipe minor pipe

We, brilliant human beings are simply a bad plumbing job. What we carry with us as bodies is pretty much a portable, displaceable pipe that begins at the mouth and ends you know where..

Felt like a sink or wash basin as you hear liquid gurgling down your throat or get acidic after eating a citrus fruit?

Everything is a pipe, connected to another pipe. Major pipe to minor pipe, like big river and its tributaries. What is important is not what gets held or is fixed, contained by the body or what is the body, but how it comes in contact and how it gets out, what is the outcome of this process in terms of energy/ learning / experience?

Now think of picking a shade of hair colour, waterproof mascara or kissable lipstick.

I'm interested in knowing how someone who believes idea 1 is supposed to co-exist with someone who believes idea 2. I'm interested in knowing how someone can have both these ideas co-exist and battle against each other every day. And its not particularly about these ideas that I'm interested.. I'm interested in my interestedness.. in what knowledge is, why our opinions are not knowledge and why our instinct is not our knowledge. When I feel, you are cold to me, I feel this, and when you deny it, who is true? When I say black and white for this photograph isn't as good as the colour version, how do you get to decide that what I think is wrong? Who decides which feeling is accurate, or correct or honest? And what if both are?