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Wednesday, February 25th, 2004 08:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flwydVery few memes of the "Which candidate for California Governor are you?" variety survive a full seven months, but the Shower Meme (aka the Interview Meme) has come back around, and I've asked for seconds from my favorite interloqutor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mlechan. Since my friends list has grown by a few handfulls since this last came around on the guitar, allow me to explain how it works:
I ask a willing party to ask me five questions.
I post the answers in my journal.
I invite my readers to request questions from me.
I ask requestors five questions.
Requestors post the answers in their journals, along with an invitation for interviews, thus spreading the meme.
The floor is therefore open. If you would like to be interviewed, leave a comment. Since work and commuting have kept me busy lately (more on that soon), I may take a few days to ask you things. But then it'll be like a present on a non-holiday ocasion: unexpected and full of excitement.
And now, with thanks tomlechan, the Shower Meme, Advanced Edition:
13 moons on Turtle's Back
12 inches along my foot
11 digits of the polydactylate
10 apendages on two people intertwined
9 people bat around
8 trigrams ring the I Ching
7 continents in the world puzzle
6 places to move on the Hex Map
5 holes in the face to take the world in
4 paws to carry puss afar
3 people in a new family
2 poles in a field
1 universe holds us all
The desert, the tundra, the wasteland. I don't quite know why, but I'm fascinated by places where only the tough survive. When I get a new National Geographic I read the Zip USA article and then scour the issue for pictures of harsh landscape -- Sahara, Siberia, Antarctica, the American Southwest. Partly I like the sense of solitude. You can go to the desert to be alone with your thoughts. Or you can be sent to the Gulag because you weren't alone with your thoughts. I also like the sense of focus it provides. In a forest, in a city, in the ocean there's so much going on your mind has to work hard to keep up. But in a deserted landscape a mouse looking for seeds, a small but determined plant striving for the sun or to escape it, a weathered rock standing alone all become an imensely enrapturing point of focus.
If I hadn't been offered a job, I'd intended to spend quite a bit of time in the Southwest. I could care less about L.A., but the Southern California of the Mojave excites me. And Giant Sequoias are cool and all, but they can't compare with the mighty Saguaro.
October 23, 1997, 2:30pm. The day was beautiful and warm. I'd done most of my homework for the week. I was with my Bike Lab class on a ride through town. My bike was running smooth, the town was alive. I steered my wheels to crunch through as many dry leaves as possible, emitting an inner shriek of glee with each one. I breathed deeply, sighing as I experienced being in love.
October 23, 1997, 3:15pm. I unwrapped a carefully-folded note. But unlike the joy that most brought me, this brought shock, confusion, and dispair. I sobbed quietly in a corner while I red my email and then reread the note. Still depressing. I pedaled down to Boulder Creek, the wind was picking up, the temperature was dropping. I walked along a tree that leans over the creek and reached up for the prayer flag I'd tied to a branch the month before. Allowing the tears to flow, I gripped the white cloth and breathed deeply, thinking thoughts of release. If she wants out, that's her choice, and I'll let her. May she go in peace, may she be happy, may we remain good friends. May these feelings of attachment slip away, wash down the river.
I rode home, hoping to release emotion through exercise. I had a snack and still felt miserable, so I lay in a pile of leaves in the yard and cried. "Why? What was wrong? Was something not wonderful? Did I make a mistake? Can I not make ammends? The wind blew around me and I became cold. After an hour or so I was composed enough to return to the house and attempt to read sullenly.
The next day it snowed. The warmth and beauty of summer had become icy and miserable. But the beheaded flower left its roots to rise again in the spring. And though the blossom would fall again to the harsh gardener of misunderstanding, the plant lives on.
The key to a good cry is to have the tears carry away the hurt, leaving the joy fresh and clean.
Gaze into his eyes
Place his hand in thine
The world looks on
As I pronounce you
Husband and Husband.
mlechan. Since my friends list has grown by a few handfulls since this last came around on the guitar, allow me to explain how it works:I ask a willing party to ask me five questions.
I post the answers in my journal.
I invite my readers to request questions from me.
I ask requestors five questions.
Requestors post the answers in their journals, along with an invitation for interviews, thus spreading the meme.
The floor is therefore open. If you would like to be interviewed, leave a comment. Since work and commuting have kept me busy lately (more on that soon), I may take a few days to ask you things. But then it'll be like a present on a non-holiday ocasion: unexpected and full of excitement.
And now, with thanks to
mlechan, the Shower Meme, Advanced Edition:1. How many?
13 moons on Turtle's Back
12 inches along my foot
11 digits of the polydactylate
10 apendages on two people intertwined
9 people bat around
8 trigrams ring the I Ching
7 continents in the world puzzle
6 places to move on the Hex Map
5 holes in the face to take the world in
4 paws to carry puss afar
3 people in a new family
2 poles in a field
1 universe holds us all
2. Where?
The desert, the tundra, the wasteland. I don't quite know why, but I'm fascinated by places where only the tough survive. When I get a new National Geographic I read the Zip USA article and then scour the issue for pictures of harsh landscape -- Sahara, Siberia, Antarctica, the American Southwest. Partly I like the sense of solitude. You can go to the desert to be alone with your thoughts. Or you can be sent to the Gulag because you weren't alone with your thoughts. I also like the sense of focus it provides. In a forest, in a city, in the ocean there's so much going on your mind has to work hard to keep up. But in a deserted landscape a mouse looking for seeds, a small but determined plant striving for the sun or to escape it, a weathered rock standing alone all become an imensely enrapturing point of focus.
If I hadn't been offered a job, I'd intended to spend quite a bit of time in the Southwest. I could care less about L.A., but the Southern California of the Mojave excites me. And Giant Sequoias are cool and all, but they can't compare with the mighty Saguaro.
3. "Life is made up of smiles and cries." Tell me a smile.
October 23, 1997, 2:30pm. The day was beautiful and warm. I'd done most of my homework for the week. I was with my Bike Lab class on a ride through town. My bike was running smooth, the town was alive. I steered my wheels to crunch through as many dry leaves as possible, emitting an inner shriek of glee with each one. I breathed deeply, sighing as I experienced being in love.
4. Tell me a cry.
October 23, 1997, 3:15pm. I unwrapped a carefully-folded note. But unlike the joy that most brought me, this brought shock, confusion, and dispair. I sobbed quietly in a corner while I red my email and then reread the note. Still depressing. I pedaled down to Boulder Creek, the wind was picking up, the temperature was dropping. I walked along a tree that leans over the creek and reached up for the prayer flag I'd tied to a branch the month before. Allowing the tears to flow, I gripped the white cloth and breathed deeply, thinking thoughts of release. If she wants out, that's her choice, and I'll let her. May she go in peace, may she be happy, may we remain good friends. May these feelings of attachment slip away, wash down the river.
I rode home, hoping to release emotion through exercise. I had a snack and still felt miserable, so I lay in a pile of leaves in the yard and cried. "Why? What was wrong? Was something not wonderful? Did I make a mistake? Can I not make ammends? The wind blew around me and I became cold. After an hour or so I was composed enough to return to the house and attempt to read sullenly.
The next day it snowed. The warmth and beauty of summer had become icy and miserable. But the beheaded flower left its roots to rise again in the spring. And though the blossom would fall again to the harsh gardener of misunderstanding, the plant lives on.
The key to a good cry is to have the tears carry away the hurt, leaving the joy fresh and clean.
5. Give me an impromptu non-Haiku poem.
Gaze into his eyes
Place his hand in thine
The world looks on
As I pronounce you
Husband and Husband.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-02-26 04:07 am (UTC)I think the truest friends can hurt each other and still remain close enough that it could happen again. That... doesn't sound as good outside my head as it did in my thinking about it, but I think you'll know what I mean.
*snuggles*
Much love,
Emi
no subject
Date: 2004-02-26 05:59 am (UTC)Oh yeah. I pulled up next to your dad at 27th and Baseline this morning on the way to work. He didn't see me, though. I didn't jump in his car and drive off, so I guess my dream wasn't prophetic.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-26 06:03 am (UTC)