I’ve started reading through my Collection of Recollections, that long piece of writing that I’ve been pounding out on my typewriter over the last year. I’m only 20 pages in and it’s shit.
For the last few days, I have been going down a rabbit hole, trying to figure out why this statement rings so true for me. It’s new-agey, almost cheesy, and it’s a misremembering of a quotation from a movie about yoga that I was watching while lying, paralyzed in bed by back pain. Help?
As if disinteresting enough to be unmemorable, I always have to look up the definition of “ennui” when I think of the word. I like how the word sounds. It’s the “en”, that French “on”, that I find most attractive about the word. But, then, la langue de l’amour has always been attractive to me,… Continue reading Is this ennui?
On New Year’s Day, -4ºC, my father walked down into the basement, which is my room, turned on the lights, and, in Katchi, softly said, “Aly. Aly, wake up slowly and take your mother to the hospital.” In Katchi, I replied, “Yeah, okay.”