DFW

If you're interested, here is a great David Foster Wallace interview. Long and exhausting, but refreshing and hopeful (maybe this should seem eerie since he was apparrently not very hopeful).
Things are queer.

Barcelona Pavilion

I can't stop thinking about this building.

I always get really into modern & post-modern architecture around this time of the year. Free plans, floating rooms, less walls, elimination of ornaments, strong spaces built with only the essential elements. It gives me such comfort and hope.

April

I think about the room

from time to time

like this morning when I walked outside and said to myself,

"What a lark, what a plunge!"

and I was in the room again with her.

It's April, you know, so I visit her more than usual.

Her body dangling like a heavy flower

her neck firmly attached to

the braided stem

waiting for the wind to blow,

an invisible pair of hands will come and take her down

the same ones that breed the lilacs out of the dead land.

They found her suicide note in her notepad

two weeks after she wore her rope burn around her neck like a

halo

"I want to be cremated."

at first they thought it was a meaningless scribble that meant

"I want to get my make-up done."

(Korean words for cremation and make-up are spelled identically)

When I'm in the room

I usually lie on the floor and look up at her face

like how I used to, lying down on her couch with my head in her lap

while she plucked my eyebrows.

Something's wrong about this angle, with her being so high up

but I ask her a question anyways,

"Who did you last make love to?"

wishlist

I want more

I want new

I want to stop wanting

please

come back, and stay until my tears dry up.

You left me dreaming of a mermaid when the ocean is absent.

R.I.P.

the cruelest month is here early this year.

Last time I talked to her she said her new favorite word is 'serendipity.'

R.I.P.

Even the saddest eyes will dry one day. I hope so.

Rhythm of loneliness

I unlock the door and walk into my apartment.

Put down my purse and take off my rings and clothes, I do not bother hanging them in my closet.

I lie down (or lay myself down) on the living room floor,

my head and my body feels so heavy and distant

that I almost feel like I could convince myself that I'm dead.

But it doesn't go away.

I roll around-right, right, left, swing my legs and arms,

my eyelids up and down, atmosphere opens and closes

but it doesn't go away.

I walk over to the fridge and take out the orange juice and drink it right out of the carton.

A simple, mindless gesture becomes a

reassurance that I'm the only person who will ever drink this orange juice,

here we go again.