Saturday, September 30, 2006

"I no longer have time to try several lives: I must choose my last life, my new life..." Roland Barthes, The Rustle of Language

My house is in chaos and covered in dust monsters following my roommate's exodus. Sean and I went out to for my birthday dinner and developed the very special super power of being invisible to waiters. We rented some Strangers With Candy episodes but can't get the DVD player to work.
The sunshine and breeze was perfect. The pecan pie and coffee outside at the Pied Cow was classic. And what more could I want than to walk the streets I always do with the person I always love?

Friday, September 29, 2006

In the waning hours of my 35th year I learned that my camera has a self-timer function, quickly posted the picture I took with it, and got back to celebrating in the above fashion.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

I've always loved going home at twilight and looking in at the unshuttered lives encased in the homes along the way. On rare occasion a figure is seen in the blue flash of the tv or crossing in front of the butter light of a desk lamp, but mostly it's the light itself that attracts, the color and shade of a home. Here in Portland, OR we live in a city full of empty home-laden streets where everyone is tucked away at sunset. A family of eight 22-year olds. A family of one widow and one ghost. A family of man, woman, baby. In a few weeks this space will become a home of sorts as I spy on my own 36th year (okay, technically I turn 36 so it will be my 37th year).

I have learned that there are a lot of things I love, but no matter how much love there is I don't necessarily remember them. I have bookshelves full of books I've swooned over but can tell you nothing about. I don't remember the names or faces of most people no matter how wonderful, beautiful, influential, etc. they may be. Therefore, this is an experimental document of pictures and words. I doubt that it will act as a remedy for my forgetfullness but maybe it will be a balm.