"Remember, I told you that ten years ago," my brother said over the phone the other night and of course, I remember, of course, he was right. That doesn't bother me. I am far more in tune with the realization, over time, that advice given to me in the past, that I either ignored out of stubbornness or didn't act upon due to my position of personal growth at the moment of the giving, was often right. There is no shame in learning this later on. I am tired of feeling 'shame' or 'foolishness' or any of these other emotionally taxing reactions to the world around me.
He was right and I was glad to hear it. It means, that even if it took ten years, I realized what it was he had tried to help me realize so long ago, now and there is nothing more powerful than the now.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Color Theory by Alexandra Teague (from Mortal Geography)
Color Theory
The Home Depot salesman says, "Remember, you won't have to live
with your choice: You'll have to live inside it." I imagine each gradation--unpacking
frying pans and toothbrush; paperbacks strewn
inside Plum Wine, Arctic Lilac, Chiasmic Violet.
On the glossy card they've chained beside the racks
of color, I learn that purple promotes drowsiness and nausea:
not recommended for kitchen or the pilothouse
of boats. Yellow, while energizing, can make one irritable,
unable to blink naturally, too anxious to swallow. Which shade
is it that makes one likely to remember turns
from years-ago samba classes, make perfect hollandaise,
sing like Bernadette Peters? Which color will help me find
my mother's citrine ring (borrowed and lost
in seventh grade) or remember the name of the Australian
band that sand "A Girl", or find the hotel where Klimt awoke
in a light sweat after dreaming The Kiss?
If I paint the living room First Green and the office
Eggshell and Mist, what primordial creatures will hatch
from the doorway clouds, what storm fronts
sweep my bookcases empty? Will my insurance refuse
payment for accidents resulting from color--the Supernova Blue
that caused me to fly kites from second-floor
windows or the Miami Sunburst trimmed with Japonica
that enticed me to juggle butcher knives and pomegranates?
To make things simple, I'd like on color
that will make me want to sing, cry, fuck, write letters
to strangers, wear fishnet stockings, buy irises, walk barefoot,
listen to Coltrane, move out, stay forever,
have children, and understand winter. One can, well stirred.
The Home Depot salesman says, "Remember, you won't have to live
with your choice: You'll have to live inside it." I imagine each gradation--unpacking
frying pans and toothbrush; paperbacks strewn
inside Plum Wine, Arctic Lilac, Chiasmic Violet.
On the glossy card they've chained beside the racks
of color, I learn that purple promotes drowsiness and nausea:
not recommended for kitchen or the pilothouse
of boats. Yellow, while energizing, can make one irritable,
unable to blink naturally, too anxious to swallow. Which shade
is it that makes one likely to remember turns
from years-ago samba classes, make perfect hollandaise,
sing like Bernadette Peters? Which color will help me find
my mother's citrine ring (borrowed and lost
in seventh grade) or remember the name of the Australian
band that sand "A Girl", or find the hotel where Klimt awoke
in a light sweat after dreaming The Kiss?
If I paint the living room First Green and the office
Eggshell and Mist, what primordial creatures will hatch
from the doorway clouds, what storm fronts
sweep my bookcases empty? Will my insurance refuse
payment for accidents resulting from color--the Supernova Blue
that caused me to fly kites from second-floor
windows or the Miami Sunburst trimmed with Japonica
that enticed me to juggle butcher knives and pomegranates?
To make things simple, I'd like on color
that will make me want to sing, cry, fuck, write letters
to strangers, wear fishnet stockings, buy irises, walk barefoot,
listen to Coltrane, move out, stay forever,
have children, and understand winter. One can, well stirred.
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