Autumn IV: Let the Games Begin

i need a project. i've got all the time in the world and no particular commitment except an attempted commitment to the gym, which seems to fail at every given chance. so, here's an idea. 26 books, 15 months. not your everyday new york times best selling list, or booker prize nominees. not that i have anything against those.. but usually i find that such books can be read on the side while the rest of life happens. the books i'm talking about are the ones we hear about as the classics, the ones everyone knows are the greats and we all use for some reference or the other and some point or the other, the ones that some people pretend to have read, few actually have and most people (comme moi) aspire to read. and so, here's the list...

1.  Living to Tell the Tale - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

2.  Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes

3.  Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

4.  War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

5.  The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald

6.  Slaughterhouse Five - Kurt Vonnegut

7.  Into the Wild - Jon Krakauer

8.  Ulysses - James Joyce

9.  Hamlet - William Shakespeare

10. King Solomon's Mines - Sir H. Rider Haggard

11. Kafka on the Shore - Haruki Murakami

12. Tess of the d'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13. Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell

14. Midnights's Children - Salman Rushdie

15. Lolita - Vladamir Nabokov

16. The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo

17. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

18. The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner

19. The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

20. On the Road - Jack Kerouac

21. Moby Dick - Herman Melville

22. East of Eden - John Steinback

23. The Divine Comedy (all three parts) - Dante Alighieri

24. Another Roadside Attraction - Tom Robbins

25. Walden - Henry David Thoreau

26. Dharma Bums - Jack Kerouac

its quite a mixed bag this list. but here it is... and so... let the games begin.

Autumn III

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

—— W.B.YEATS

Autumn II

dear boy,

you're fast asleep next to me right now in a land far far away... snoring a little bit. (yes, we've had this discussion many times and yes tis true, you do snore).

as i glance at you from the corner of my eye every now and then, i remember all the things that fade away with sunlight. i remember a time when i didn't believe in moments like this. i remember when i snickered at friends who claimed to be in love. i remember how i scoffed at the idea of sharing my bed. i remember comments coated with sarcasm so that they'd make everyone laugh and think me witty instead of letting them see that the cynicism i felt was absolute and ran deep. i remember a carelessness that wore me easily. i remember loneliness, i remember despair, i remember a parched mouth and i remember the taste of cigarettes. 

its getting cold outside now. as we sleep with our window open, we hear the sounds of the world passing us by. and we move in just a little bit closer. and your smell takes hold of me... your perfume left over from the day mixed with a cool september breeze and the first traces of what might become morning breath. and i remember the first night we saw each other. you walk down the cobbled street towards me, i'm smoking my fifth cigarette, a little nervous (but you'll never know that). we recognize each other even though we've never met and as we smile, both a little shy, you give me chocolates. i should have known then how this would end... this moment now was inevitable. but if i had known that then, what would i have done? 

dear boy,

you met me on a brink i didn't even know i was on. you stood there with me and opened a bottle of wine. we sat on the edge of the cliff and let our legs dangle above the whole of the world... oblivious to everything but us. and how wonderful it felt. 

dear boy,

how far we've come since then... so far that moments like this make me catch my breath and open my eyes in wonder. they tickle my toes and make me warm inside. they make me snuggle deeper in to bed, and deeper in to you. through your dream weary landscapes, you turn your body and mould it in to mine... your arms across my stomach and your breath on my ear... gentle lullabies that bring me the promise of sleep at the end of tumultuous thoughts.

Autumn I

i'm recently unemployed, eight kilos heavier than i'd like to be and currently in the process of trying to quit smoking. a regular bridget jones but without the hugh grant boss and the little skirt that could start some steamy not entirely unwanted office romance.(Bridget Jones 2 K 0). 


i feel more and more like a stereotype with every passing day. and this, right here, is my attempt to reverse the process. besides, jumping in the deep end always gives me a kick. problem is, i'm not entirely sure what happens once i jump in... i guess there's only one way to find out eh?