Words, Wide Night

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say 
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you

and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.

 

- Carol Ann Duffy

I know a lady who lost the forest for the trees

The cold heart will burst
If mistrusted first
And a calm heart will break when given a shake

(How her heart behaves)

Spent three weeks in Ambala, India, making a documentary about children from various backgrounds who underwent a photography camp together. 

I’m so thankful that people take chances on me so early on, and amazed at the stories I’ve come across. 

Here’s Sachin, a 14 year old participant, gazing through the car window. I have a feeling he’ll be featured a lot in this documentary.

Spent three weeks in Ambala, India, making a documentary about children from various backgrounds who underwent a photography camp together. 

I’m so thankful that people take chances on me so early on, and amazed at the stories I’ve come across. 

Here’s Sachin, a 14 year old participant, gazing through the car window. I have a feeling he’ll be featured a lot in this documentary.

"

There is no future in nostalgia

& certainly no nostalgia in the future of the past.
now, the corner cigarette-seller is gone, is perhaps dead.
no, definitely dead, he would not otherwise have gone.
he is replaced by a stamp-machine,
the old cook by a pressure-cooker,
the old trishaw-rider’s stand by a fire hydrant,
the washer-woman by a spin dryer

& it goes on
in various variations & permutations
there is no future in nostalgia.

"

There is no future in nostalgia, by Arthur Yap

"

What you should not do, I think, is worry about the opinion of anyone beyond your friends. You shouldn’t worry about prestige. Prestige is the opinion of the rest of the world. When you can ask the opinions of people whose judgement you respect, what does it add to consider the opinions of people you don’t even know?

This is easy advice to give. It’s hard to follow, especially when you’re young. Prestige is like a powerful magnet that warps even your beliefs about what you enjoy. It causes you to work not on what you like, but what you’d like to like.

That’s what leads people to try to write novels, for example. They like reading novels. They notice that people who write them win Nobel prizes. What could be more wonderful, they think, than to be a novelist? But liking the idea of being a novelist is not enough; you have to like the actual work of novel-writing if you’re going to be good at it; you have to like making up elaborate lies.

Prestige is just fossilized inspiration. If you do anything well enough, you’ll make it prestigious. Plenty of things we now consider prestigious were anything but at first. Jazz comes to mind—though almost any established art form would do. So just do what you like, and let prestige take care of itself.

Prestige is especially dangerous to the ambitious. If you want to make ambitious people waste their time on errands, the way to do it is to bait the hook with prestige. That’s the recipe for getting people to give talks, write forewords, serve on committees, be department heads, and so on. It might be a good rule simply to avoid any prestigious task. If it didn’t suck, they wouldn’t have had to make it prestigious.

Similarly, if you admire two kinds of work equally, but one is more prestigious, you should probably choose the other. Your opinions about what’s admirable are always going to be slightly influenced by prestige, so if the two seem equal to you, you probably have more genuine admiration for the less prestigious one.

"

Excerpt from How To Do What You Love, by Paul Graham

And I am cold for your touch 
We owe each other so much 
For all the vows we will always break 
For all the dreams we’ve yet to make 

And we are gone, we are falling 
Over the edge of a mountain into the sea 

"Do-what-you’re-toldable
Easily moldable
Buy-what you’re-soldable
Washable Mendable
Highly Dependable
Buyable Saleable
Always available
Bounceable Shakeable
Almost unbreakable
Twistable Turnable Man."

Twistable Turnable Man by Shel Silverstein 

"

My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me. Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?

I never know what you are thinking. Think.

I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

What is that noise?
The wind under the door.
What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?
Nothing again nothing.

Do you know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember nothing?

I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?

"

T.S. Eliot