Monday, January 12, 2009

mondays are for inuman, marie la vina edition


it's good to know that all of us are still around. one way or another. last night was the happiest i've been in quite a while. we sprang a not-so-surprise despedida for Marie as she's off to Belgium on sunday to study, and for a while we were laughing about all the fights we used to have. it's good to know those times haven't much dulled our fondness for each other.

we watched the breakfast club on the mOHP (if no one recalls, the old mondays blog had a similar header to the note they wrote the principal, and ally sheedy is always hot, and i wish i had brought my bender weed). made another BYWHM playlist. made our rounds and got alcoholed enough to take really funny pictures. there were, of course, lots of booze, but not as much drinking as there used to be. sasha cut pancho the longhair's hair real short and so now i need a new adjective to delineate him from pancho express (because he's a bicolano, bicol express, get it). or maybe i'll just still call him that, since his long hair is as much a part of his spirit as the animal that lives in him. i don't understand that last statement either but i think it sounds cool in an unorthodox semi-mystical way.

can somebody post that renga we made for marie? and a few pictures? we need to log those in our little box of digital memoirs (or is it spelled memoires, fie to the lit major).

see you in a few months, our beloved Marie. May you learn a lot, and see a lot of beautiful things during your stay there.


In Childhood

by Kimiko Hahn

things don't die or remain damaged
but return: stumps grow back hands,
a head reconnects to a neck,
a whole corpse rises blushing and newly elastic.
Later this vision is not True:
the grandmother remains dead
not hibernating in a wolf's belly.
Or the blue parakeet does not return
from the little grave in the fern garden
though one may wake in the morning
thinking mother's call is the bird.
Or maybe the bird is with grandmother
inside light. Or grandmother was the bird
and is now the dog
gnawing on the chair leg.
Where do the gone things go
when the child is old enough
to walk herself to school,
her playmates already
pumping so high the swing hiccups?

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