A World with Pyramids

The Wind Rises
Also went to see Miyazki's The Wind Rises. I always appreciate the way he observes plants.
 I was looking for a tighter still of wildflowers, which he does particularly well - in
Wind there
 is even a careful study of plaintain weeds - but this will suffice for now.


It's been a busy few days here in Magpieland. I keep trying to write a post that sums it all up, and I keep hating it. Let's try this:

Thursday was the thirteenth birthday of the son we never had. Calvin would be a teenager now. We always go to the cemetery. This year we took 13 orange daisies, a blue pinwheel, a Lego cop, and a small bag of Doritos.

I was really happy on Friday night to see Ali Garrigan sing the Jesus out of songs she had cowritten with Dennis Yurich in Titus.

On Saturday, partly to prove to a friend that our family has "narrative to spare," we went with her and her son to see the family shorts program at the film festival then stayed an got in on standby to the totally delightful Uruguayan film Anina, based on a book called Anina Yatay Salas, which I hope will someday be available in English.

I finally stopped into the new(ish) Guide to Kulchur book/zine/typewriter repair/poetry happening shop on W 65th. Got a GtK quarterly and a book of essays by Jeannette Winterson.

I went to a poetry reading by friends Catherine and Lee, and Eric, a person who knows so many people I know it is weird that we don't really know each other, and I was surprised and delighted by the proceedings. They traded off readings in the round, which made for interesting associations and a lot of humor. My companion remarked that it made her want to write. Eric Anderson read a poem called "The League" that knocked me over. I bought his book so I could keep thinking about it.

In general, I am wanting to support other people's art. (I also made small contributions to some IndieGoGo campaigns.) Sometimes I feel darkly that we are glutted with people's solipsistic scribblings and everyone should just shut up and do something that actually matters. Right now I am feeling thankful that there are so many people who care about art and want to make things. More art, less of all that other stuff. Until it bankrupts me. It's the "world with pyramids model" (see The Wind Rises for the reference).

Reading: There is a recent NYer profile of micrfiction writer Lydia Davis that is making me think a lot about what makes metaphor work.

Writing: Yes. Sent a piece of the script to writer's group. I need to figure out the last third. That is the really tough part.

Dinner: Most recently, all four of us at Tommy's, milkshakes forbidden due to excess candy earlier in the day. O became obsessed with folding paper hats with the coloring sheets and the napkins and made them for all the many condiment bottles.

Soundtrack: On my way to pick up Anna to go hear the poetry, tuned in randomly to WJCU and got an earful of The Wombats on the Assisted by Argyle show (I love that title).

Random thing: Waiting with Z for her school bus on Friday morning, I think I saw an American Kestrel gliding over the neighborhood from tall tree to tall tree.

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