All posts filed under: Random Thoughts

les vaches folles

Inspired by an actual dream, so is it Fiction or Non-Fiction? Photo Essay: the view from inside a bowl of cereal. The dream: my father on the other side of the table from me and my mother; he says something, a comment about us on the other side, alluding to how mad we may be, like mad cows (except it’s in French, and in French the cows are feminine, which is their gender, grammatically that is, as the cows haven’t expressed even their madness to be labeled mad).  I end with finding comfort inside my bowl of cereal, which is very realistic: it is my bowl, it is my cereal, in which I find comfort.   Advertisements

Old Slide: just a plane at the airport

The photo is not even framed properly. I would have discarded the old slide from my father’s boxes that I tasked myself with sorting out. Many of these slides were the source of our family’s entertainment, back when the only channel on black-and-white TV had the hockey game on Saturday nights, and none of us cared for it. This photo of an Air France Boeing 707, apparently taken at Orly airport, was part of the family show after my parents came back from their trip to France in the Spring of 1964. Many of the photos show street scenes, and sometimes there’s my mother sitting on a rented chair in the Jardin des Tuileries (I’m making this up, I don’t remember what jardins they were, but I remember she mentioned having to pay to sit on the chair). It must be Sunday, and they might have attended Sunday Mass at Notre-Dame, because she’s wearing white gloves… Otherwise, my father was interested in documenting his trip with his group of professors, and we saw a hydroelectric …

Found, and Lost Again

Found black leather bound note book with journal entries starting December 7 until the last one December 21, Solstice Day. It was at the top of the escalator, swept by every step rolling into the metallic comb, at the Embarcadero Muni Station, some time past nine pm. There was no name and address in the book, but well-structured notes taken at the end had plans to find a place to stay, among other things. The first journal entry speaks of the author liking a woman called Cindy, but the last entry, on Solstice Day, is written hastily with a bad pen and concludes with “too much speed, not enough sleep.” In retrospect, when I entered the BART side of the station, there was someone who seemed to be having a bad trip on top of the gates, the attendant not minding anything but his own business. How could I know, at that time, this could have been the writer? I left it on the round stone bench at the east side end of the BART …

Light a Candle

At the end of this year, I feel as if we were in the middle of Richard III, when he has taken power and is about to be crowned, but especially when a lot of heads start to fall, wars will be waged, and hope will be back if there is an alliance of sorts between the diverse families that form our world. Who knows. We see it metaphorically in plays, movies, and novels. Can we do it in reality? All we can do now is to recognize our brethren and those who could be, start appreciating our differences and make alliances, refuse to point fingers at the less fortunate, refuse to participate in the economic pyramid and share our art, our capabilities, our love, with those around us. Don’t forget to say “thank you” and “I’m sorry.” Only once this is reached will we have enough strength to combat the extraordinary monster before us. Light a candle and let its flame shine on you.  

Escape from the Black-and-White World

The people of the Black-and-White world were secure in their dichotomy. They wore gray suits and dresses and gray mustaches. They read paternalistic newspapers printed with black ink, telling them what to dream and to especially beware of colors. Answering the mundane question “do you dream in color, or in black-and-white?” was loaded with meaning, and vague answers could lead one to years of Precambrian therapy chock full of colorful explosions as long as they were kept within the confines of the asylum. From its windows the raindrops in a rain curtain decomposed the sunlight and imprinted a rainbow on hope-filled eyes. Raindrops did that, yes, collectively and unintentionally, they broke white light into an infinity of colors that could be harvested and catalogued to be chosen as the bearers of personal meaning. There was no end to the rainbow being borrowed and altered in states of diversity. The colors seeped into the Black-and-White world, and despite robotic calls to remain in the safety of gray comfort, the people escaped to where their own personal …