The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
And I hung my head and cried

The sound of you sleeping

I has vid of self on pole! Yay!

I can't stop watching the clip - gah, I have so much to work on. Basically everything I did in that clip had something off or something I can better.

Prolly should start recording myself doing my tricks if I went for pole prac.

Note to self: START STRETCHING.

Rufus Wainwright - 'Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk'

Album: Poses



Paradoxically, even as I think my stomach has shrank some, I've been eating more and more. (And getting fatter and fatter ...)

Anyways.

My mind's currently abuzz with pole (not to mention the sugar rush from the donut I just injested): The positions I'm eager to try out tomorrow, well as polishing up certain spins.

I want to go from the bat into a handstand then a split before dismounting. And that combination spin which I want to end with a backhook (or 'Goddess') instead of something like the 'Geisha'.

... Shit, I can't keep up with the names for every single spin/invert, especially if everybody calls them by different names. =|

Pizzicato Five - 'Baby Love Child'

Album: Made In USA



Managed a new invert today - what Linna called the 'Bat' - in addition to a new spin (a combination of the 'Maypole' and 'Merry-go-round').

I think that's why pole is addictive: Every time I achieved a new trick, I just want to do it again and again, because I am thrilled and pleased by it.

Same reason you're addictive: Every time I hear from you, I am thrilled and pleased.

Shivaree - 'I Will Go Quietly'

Album: Who's Got Trouble



Ran straight from salsa to pole prac.

Reminder to self: Do not attend Wednesday's pole prac - when it ends at 22:15, will have to wait forever to squeeze into an already-overcrowded bus (the second one, since the one that came 30 minutes prior didn't even bother stopping, being crammed to the brim) to get home because the too-long cab queue doesn't move.

Especially torturous with bummed knee from having fallen hard on it during pole prac. And low blood sugar from having missed dinner.

Things get any lower, hell'd've found new depths.

The sound of you sleeping

Childhood fears never will abate, I don't think.

I think once you got scared a certain way, in a certain situation, and/or by a certain person/thing, in your childhood - and, consistently, at that - you'll never lose that fear even as an adult. (I'd call it a phobia, except I don't feel what I fear is that irrational.)

Mephisto has that power over me. He may or may not know it, but he does.

Fear.

The sound of you sleeping

Why call April the cruelest month when the month of May will prove to be so much worse?

Nearly a whole month without pole.

I could just cry ...

=(

Shafqat Amanat Ali Khan - 'यह होंसला'

Album: डोर OST



Watched डोर today, and Hard Candy, and a couple episodes of Boston Legal.

Then I practised my salsa styling routines and street chachacha shines.

Gawd, what I wouldn't give for a pole so I could practise my pole stuff as well.

Two pole classes scheduled for this week though.

Yippee! ^_^

Mastered the position called 'chopsticks', and to switch from scorpio to gemini without hands.

Yesh!

=)

The Mountain Goats - 'Love Love Love'

Album: The Sunset Tree

Text

I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird.

We text, text, text
our significant words.

I re-read your first,
your second, your third,

looking for your small xx,
feeling absurd.

The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.

Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.



Duffy, Carol Ann. Rapture. London: Picador, 2005.

Dinner with Zenzi, Saket, and Stef went better than the social night.

But, mainly, I remember just the texts we were exchanging and exchanging and exchanging throughout.

Glen Hansard - 'Disappointed'

Jen sent me this link today:

The future takes us where it leads
Our heads just go beneath the waves
Time tells all and we obey
But how can I be mad at you
You did what you did
And you followed through
You were the one who always said
'Forget it and move on'

But I'm not sad, I'm just disappointed
And I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed

Well the years they get on top of you
The working load it tallied up
And you went down
Beneath it all like anybody would
And I'm just ambling on in this town
I can't get out and it drags me down
And these words don't really fit what I'm feeling now

But I'm not sad, I'm just disappointed
And I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed

And you're not lost, you're just misdirected
And we're not going, oh nowhere

Glen Hansard - 'Song for Someone'

Dryin' up in conversation, still
My head was halfway round the world
And workin' through your sleeping I was
Driven by the promise of a quick return
And I wonder if she'll be the very same
And I wonder if she's gonna break the waves
Again...

Tryin' just to focus on the good
I'm tired of divin' for the pearls
And every dawn is another morning less
I have to wait to wake beside that girl
And I hope she's gonna be the very same
And I hope she can survive this wave again

And if we're all for someone
And if we're born for someone
When will she come, that someone?
And put things in their place?

Comin' back to see you girl,
You know there's nothing surer in this world
Remember all the maddened seasons
Back when we weren't old enough to wait our turn
And I hope we're gonna be the very same
And I hope we can survive this wave again

And if we're all for someone
And if we're both for someone
When will she come, that someone?
And put things in their place?

The sound of you sleeping

Impulse is a dish best served steaming hot; distance is a deterrent to that.

Doesn't matter whether you're four or five hours ahead of me (and I behind you), the journey will still take over half a day (if you factored in the time spent waiting in-transit). The steam wafting from the hot dish will dissipate long before it arrives at its destination; time will cool it.

This much I'd been thinking about today.

However, the desire, the longing - the skeleton beneath the cooling, singed flesh - remains. Untouched.

... in this single bed, between these garish sheets, I will find a map as likely as any treasure hunt. I will explore you and mine you and you will redraw me according to your will. We shall cross one another's boundaries and make ourselves one nation. Scoop me in your hands for I am good soil. Eat of me and let me be sweet.



Winterson, Jeanette. Written on the Body. London: Vintage, 1993.