small stones
Today is the last day of my small stones exercise. As I typed that, I mistyped "scones" for "stones" and realized it'd been a lot harder if the exercise was to make scones for 31 days. As it stands, I only had to write. I made it 29 out of 31. Not bad, but I wish I would've made the whole. Here is my farewell haiku:
Scribbles on a page Turning into poetry Meaningful small stones
See this card? This card is the type of thing you get in place of a ticket for going to Sleep No More, an interactive-ish play, loosely based on Macbeth, if Macbeth were steampunk meets Eyes Wide Shut with way less nudity in a garish hotel. (And thank god, because the one chest shot I saw was just awkward.)
On my way home from yoga tonight, two significant things happened. I can't tell you exactly what makes them significant, whatever. First, I used a homeless man as a breadcrumb. I am not proud of this. But it was a new studio and on the way there I wasn't sure if I was heading the right direction and I noticed him looking dead lying over a grate around 5th and University Place and I remember thinking Ugh, he looks dead.
I am not really callous. I fake like I am (shhh) when I am in New York City, and only as an act of basic survival: I heard that weak people are sentenced to Midtown in perpetuity.
Unfortunately/fortunately, dead looking homeless men turn out to be useful landmarks on account of no one wanting to touch them. :( On my way home from class he hadn't moved, and that is how I knew I was headed back in the same direction I came. Oh joy!
Second, a couple of blocks later I spotted THIS little gem in the trash. If I were not afraid of rat diseases and looking weird and also if I weren't trying to be more of a minimalist, I would have taken it home with me. I know, totally frivolous, but I pictured having a cocktail party and sitting him at the dinner table just to the left of the chips and queso.
This is my savings plan right now. Not really ('cause I don't do pennies), but that's how it feels. The extravagance of Brazil and Christmas and shopping-to-cure-depression finally caught up with me so now I'm being the responsible person I'm supposed to be. And that's pretty boring.
Maybe the best written music review ever written, "Stephen’s music is a blend of blankety-blank, blank, blank."
