Originally posted on DreamNotionPaintDance:

One: With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

Two: So let’s go to bed before you say something real.

Three: We can whisper things, secrets

Four: Cause I’m your jazz singer and you’re my cult leader.

Five: No matter what I do.

Possessed – a five-lined stolen poem of other songs

With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair, so

Let’s go to bed before you say something real.

We can whisper things, secrets

Cause I’m your jazz singer and you’re my cult leader.

No matter what I do.

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Little Revelations No. 1



1) Stretching a perfectly symmetrical shape in width is the same as stretching it in length, only that the stretch happens in a different direction.

2) In any number of chess games around the world, the number of winners will be equal to the number of losers by necessity. 

3) I came across this comment a few days ago: “Sure, but the guy who invented the first wheel had a pretty great idea, but it didn’t mean much until the next guy invented the axel (sic).”

4) If we move fast enough, everything will happen at the same time. I wonder if the same happens if we’re slow enough.


Conversations and Poetry

I love having interesting conversations with interesting people. My favorite conversations are the ones that are about you, and not what you watch, listen to, or read, etc. Those are the easy option. The other option is the more stimulating one because it’s about who you are when everything else is taken away: where you’d like to go, what you think about, what you do, what your handwriting looks like, etc. I’ve recently come to notice that the people I know with whom I have interesting conversations can all write well.

During a conversation with a friend the other day, I noticed that I’ve filled many notebooks in the past few years, but mostly with nonsense. There are pages upon pages filled with random words (handwriting practice) and futile thoughts and tired poetry. There will occasionally be something worth rereading here and there, but the bulk of it is just ugly. And yet, I still write down the nonsense I have to say. Here’s an old poem that I’d written for a friend to make them feel better at the time:

How can you say that there aren’t any miracles
When you’re surrounded by hands and eyes?
Notice the way flowers bloom –
And the day and night; see how
The death of one gives birth to the other?
Forever in flux, hugging the Earth,
Fading in and out of each other,
Coloring the sky a different shade of blue every day.

Speaking of poetry, I recently fell in love with the idea of writing poetry in French. I was listening to Yann Tiersen, and the titles of his tracks, which are mostly in French., caught my eye. The title of one album specifically caught me: Les Retrouvailles. I had no idea what the world meant before I looked it up, but I had this feeling that it had something to do with lost time that was somehow found. (It’s the resemblance to the word “retrieve” that got me thinking along those lines.) Anyhow, I decided to have a go at writing French poetry (with the help of Google Translate) about lost/found time, and here’s what I came up with:

Les jours perdus que jamais soignés
Ont retourné une fois de plus
De vous voir étaler vos ailes d’argent.

(The lost days that never cared
Have returned once again
To see you spread your silver wings.)

Art by Alice X. Zhang

Haikus: To Write Poetry


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To write poetry
Is to breathe language in, and
Then breathe wonder out.

To write poetry
Is to become wet with life
And its emptiness.

To write poetry
Is to preach the beauty you
Find in tired eyes.

To write poetry
Is to breathe life into a
Bag of bones, wishes.

To write poetry
Is to see the stars above
The temples of rhythm

To write poetry
Is to taste the music in
A spoon of money.


“How come you don’t write anymore?”

Originally posted on Sincerely, Salma:

…I got asked. At first, I didn’t understand the question, how did she reach such an assumption?

“You haven’t published a long piece of writing for a long while.”


I don’t know if it’s related or not, but since I actually stopped publishing whatever I write online because of lack of time (at first), I’ve noticed a change in how I write and the things that come out. It’s more comfortable to write for yourself, and, believe it or not, it’s even more gratifying!

To write without thinking is to write what has been truly sitting in your mind. Even when it comes to fiction. Not out of fear of being judged or criticized, but because, at least for me, writing is something I do to grow and expand on thought. Having someone like or dislike what I write simply doesn’t make any difference, and I say that in…

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The Ghost of Memories Past


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Some days I just don’t feel like speaking and am tempted to stay silent for the whole day, offering no explanation to others as to why I am not talking — it’d ruin the silence if I told them — so I just ignore everything for a day. I do that just because I feel like I want to remain silent, and not because I’m sad. I like this self-fulfilling silence. Of course, as it happens, there’s always something that makes me speak every time I attempt to have a silent day, but I still insist on trying. Anyways, what I wanted to say is that this self-imposed, self-fulfilling silence sometimes helps me think more clearly. You should try it sometime.

Some nights, before I go to sleep, the ghost of memories past will knock on my door and ask to be let in, and I always let him in. My house is small: it’s got a bed, a cupboard, a window and a table. He always sits at the table and refuses to drink the tea I offer him. He sits there, looking at me with his bright eyes, piercing my soul — but never uttering a word — and why would he want to speak? I already know what’s on my mind, his mind, our mind. He reminds me of things that I’ve chosen to forget. He reminds me of the weight of my words and actions and how they’ve never lived up to expectations. I wake up the next day and find it hard to rise; the air feels heavy in my lungs. Why did he visit? Why did I let him in? I always let him in, and he always weighs me down. I recently discovered that he visits everyone else too, and they all let him in. We dare not speak with him because whatever he’ll say will remind us of what we have forgotten on purpose, and we dare not leave him outside because the idea of his presence alone is enough to weigh us down, so we decide to get it over with. The ghost of memories past is too real to be a ghost — and he’ll be visiting you again soon enough.


Spring Break, Finally


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- My spring break started earlier today when I finished my classes, and a break’s long overdue. This semester has flown by so fast in an almost surreal fashion. I was talking with a couple of friends recently about how time flies, and our minds were all blown. What seems like yesterday is actually months or years old, and it’s hard to come to grasps with that. Here’s an example: last year, during my spring break, I decided I’d work on improving my handwriting (cursive and print), and now it’s almost a year since I’ve started practicing. I still remember everything about my earliest practice sessions like it was yesterday. You can’t really explain to someone how time flies by unless they’ve experienced it themselves. I’ve discovered that weekly habits are a very easy way to mark things in your mind. Once you’ve done your weekly activity four times, a month has passed.

- I bought new (and different) glasses! I like them. They’re different from my old glasses because they’re for young people, and my other glasses could easily belong to a fifty-year-old. Change is nice when it’s not completely out of my hands. If you’ve ever worn glasses before, you know how it feels when you try new glasses: something always feels slightly off, but you can never really tell what it is, until you get used to the glasses. Slightly related fun fact: if you wear glasses that make you see everything upside down for a while (can’t remember how long) and then take them off, you’ll see things upside down without the glasses for a few hours’ time. Unrelated not-so-fun fact: psychologists have shown that physical and psychological change can work both ways: changing one will influence and change the other. Let’s see how this works…

- Last Thursday I watched John Mayer’s DVD, Where the Light Is, and I realized how much I need to experience more live music than I do now (which is practically zero). The concert was along, 2.5 hours, but it was very rewarding. Today I’ll watch Sara Bareilles’s Between the Lines, and I don’t know about next week yet. I’ve got a few more downloaded concert DVDs though, so I’m ready. Live performances add so much more to the music.

- I haven’t been to the sea in a very long time, and I’d like to go. I want to be able to go places with the people I like, all alone. Seas, mountains, caves, cities, farms, planets, you name it. I want to go with people to the places that we both like and share this happiness with them then and there, and then keep doing this over and over with different people and different places, and also make art based on my shared experiences. It’d be an interesting way to approach life.



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