from the cover of the big BURSTING issue....

just another comic from the 12-page newspaper the kids and i published yesterday... wow this one took a long time to put together by hand, i was up for days, but totally worth it. more on this later... as we're now in the midst of a special edition for this thursday..... let's just say it's a hilarious work of pure newspaper fiction, and we wrote the entire thing in three hours yesterday, i've never seen anything like it, it was the most hard-working, entertaining and dedicated group of 9, 10, 11 year old newspaperists (and abby of course) that i could have ever asked for. now it's up to me to get the madness in order for thursday. 

comical stuff to come. x c

[photo by me, of course, of the front cover]

SONNET XVII [NERUDA]

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.


I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving


but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

[Pablo Neruda]

[out of focus] moments find focus.

in
restaurant
laughter

we'll have the--

[photos : by c]

flickr

of course!

"the course of true love... " shakespeare

senior year in college i wrote an essay on shakespeare's use of apostrophes in the title of his play Love's Labour's Lost. the topic and resulting paper were the mixed result of a late night, not having read the play for a long time, a blank page and a looming essay due in the morning, and a fine-tuned ability to write interesting content on obscure topics while somehow in the process discovering meaning and importance in the details of such randomly selected subjects. I do believe that that was what i really learned from being an english major, and it has served me extremely well and in fact enhanced my perspective, understanding and appreciation of the word (ha! typo... i meant to write.. world) ever since. oh and we spent the rest of class the next day discussing the issue i raised of the apostrophe in the title. so perhaps in due course, avoiding one way of looking at things can haphazardly bring about an understanding of something else that's usually avoided (and in this case, i'm directly referring to the tripped over and forgotten, the use and misuse, of apostrophes, haha. but i'm serious...)

but all i meant to write here, was that, staring into nothing across the mess surrounding me just now, my eyes focused in on that very title, the words facing vertically down on the book cover binding: Love's Labour's Lost. and i got it i mean literally through osmosis it momentarily settled my nerves and came over me. and i got it. by shakespeare i got it. i could write that essay again with an entirely different meaning. those apostrophes say it all. they did back in college and yesterday and then again, today, it hit me, and it meant everything, and in the ink-stained hands of time, the touch of shakespeare's pen scribbled on the to do list sitting on my desk in front of me, reminding me that it's all happened before, this is the experience, the process, and in the tradition of his timeless words, the course--

Love's Labour is at times, overlooked; Lost. at other times, it is again found. and at times like this, it is somehow all at once lost, found, running and smooth.






"the course of true love never did run smooth--" shakespeare. of course.

x c

in winter hanging bright spots of color in darkness from blog entries scribbled

in time like oranges
in winter hanging bright on
dark clouds and strong leaves




 ..•.

in time like oranges
in winter hanging bright on
dark clouds and strong leaves

fall.


•

.


at once -- rough winds or ready

.



fallen. sometimes the sweetest fruit-- winter.


.•.


hi.
after a long absence (i've been scribbling down all my blog entries on papers ..easier on the head to stay away from the computer screen.. and i've been caught up in typing kids' stories and newspaper when i do get on the computer, and so i've never gotten to typing my stuff here, but you know i've been writing, and still making entries, how could i not....?) nevertheless, in the midst of darkness (literally) and worsening headache today,

i bring you: one haiku two ways, •and with an extra syllable• and two six word stories that i stitched together.

the other day i was struck by the brightness of the oranges in my backyard, glowing on the tree in the bareness of winter when the surrounding trees seemed to have literally given up. but the oranges were there hanging strong in the wind and rain against the dark clouds, and i'd never really considered how they hang on there, through it all, (thick skin i guess) and still give us the sweetest juice through the shortest days of the year, and all winter long. At times we hear this loud •thump• from outside as another orange --rough winds or ready-- falls from the waxy leaves of the tree and hits the deck, fall. and still the other oranges cling cheerfully to the tree, the bright oranges embraced by the (ok, yes, not so common in california, but we still have winter) dark grey of a cloudy ominous sky. it was there before me the other morning ..this image.. as if i'd never noticed. and yet i enjoy the fresh and plentiful orange juice every winter. and so i hurried inside to scribbled down this haiku.

and sitting here today in darkness, i remembered it. and you, and this.... and it's been so long since i posted any of my writing, and some of you are so good, so loyal about contacting me and checking on here, or encouraging me, and i don't always respond right away, but i answer in my head, i've composed great responses in my head! and those words from you are my oranges, and you know who you are, and it will get better, and i always say i will try but then life-- and then life--

but i will try.

and while looking for spots of color in darkness--
x c

sunday comics--

he's mr.
So and So
and i'm ms.
I Think You Know

music boxes 
kindred spirits
sunday comics

and 
i knew 
the words



 

sunday comics 
with Linus.  

yes, THAT Linus. 
who else.  

yes really, the REAL Linus from the peanuts cartoon strip (minus the blanket, he left it in the car) the most amazing man you ever did meet-- cartoonist, painter, writer, thinker, joker, smooth talker, my mentor, sunday lunch date, partner in crime and pen pal.... ....Linus doesn't have a computer, or an email address, he doesn't use the internet and still draws his cartoons by hand and submits them in the post.. so we send each other good old-fashioned letters. "we're the exception" he announced with a grin to me and everyone else at the lunch table this past sunday, referring with pride to our out-dated habit of correspondence via handwritten letters sent in the mail.

Linus has been a mentor to me in my writing and in every other creative endeavor i've attempted. he's also just somehow always been there letting me know it's ok to see things in a different light, to try things another way, and to live a life that others might never really understand, he supports me as i attempt to discover what to do with all the extra details i continue to notice about this world.

he told his parents he wanted to be a cartoonist at the age of six. he used to wait on the porch for his father to come home from work every night with newspaper in hand, so that they could read the comics together. he worked with charles schulz (creator of the peanuts comic strip) and reminds me all the time that schulz used to tell him that even if he wasn't paid to draw the peanuts comic strip, he would have done it every day anyway, that's how much a part of him it was, that's how much it meant to him. and i got it. so did Linus. 

at the age of 83 he's still working hard and has made his living as a clever cartoonist, a brilliant artist (his paintings are fantastic) and a colorful comic on and off the page. So ya, this Linus is real. Just wish he could read my blog, i've showed him a few times how to access this internet thing, but it was just an art from another time that he didn't seem to grasp, so instead i'll print it out and send it to him in the mail.

sunday comics--

x c

photos : by c

more sunday comics photographs : flickr

last time i mentioned Linus : here

just wanted reflection : got life reflected

(six word story)

...during photo shoot with my photographer friend cristian el chico de camisa morada, i might just have convinced him to start a little photography somethin' with me... it's in the works. so what you think about that! (but he needs a blog... right?)

(more) photos : by c : here

x c

classic.

somehow opened up to this article in the paper (no kidding, the real newspaper) the other day. the san francisco chronicle features classic articles from years (and years and years) past... i thought this one from june 3, 1963 by stanton delaplane was really great.

Chronicle Classic :
Delaplane flying high

The new TWA polar flight is nonstop from the U.S. West Coast to Paris, France. 

It takes 10 hours and 5 minutes and is crammed with so much passenger activity that everybody must work hard and seriously to accomplish his task before the wheels touch down. 

Each passenger is expected to eat a five-course luncheon and a six-course dinner. Between these he must view a full-length feature movie. He should - TWA expects every man to do his duty - precede each meal with an appropriate martini. 

The airline surveyed martini drinkers recently. It found West Coast lushes were ordering the bottled Heublein's martinis. Then they would order a straight gin. They were spiking their martinis. 

Therefore, TWA ordered West Coast martinis mixed at new odds of 16-to-1 - gin versus vermouth. Two of these and the stewardess resets your controls to automatic. You are no longer considered fit to fly yourself. 

On the west-to-east crossing, the movie is a late, late show. The jets simply eat up time. So you go to the movie in the afternoon and you get out in the middle of the night. 

Coming back the situation is reversed. 

You start lunch at midday. And when you finish it is still noon. 

This is very confusing and TWA is justly proud of it. It is not only on its toes with competing airlines. It is way ahead of the passenger.

(article continued-- full version-- and other classics : here)

found the peace i was holding

photos : by c

x c

the tunnel, the end, in this light--

photos : by c

well, maybe i used to have a really different sort of life a few years ago, the kind where people still tell me, wow that's the kind of life i only dream about, what was it like, it must have been amazing. and sure yes it was. these days i don't even mention it anymore. time to-- because-- you see, between that and the world constructed in my mind through creativity and words, and from behind these headaches and sunglasses, i haven't seen much of reality. i haven't even looked at what's right next to me because none of it even resembled what i thought it would or should or-- or what i thought i knew i wanted it to look like. the life i was supposed to have. and that probably sounds familiar and i guess they say it never is or does or will--

photos : by c

and then i just sort of-- after all this time, started taking pictures everyday of every day with my old, temperamental digital camera. we have an on-again-off-again relationship in that it only actually takes pictures on occasions, when i hit it or shake it or when it's not telling me 'memory card error' or 'corrupt data' or when i can at least identify who is in the blurry photos. but it works. sometimes. and in these photos i've captured-- there's simplicity in the perspective, change, colors, fade, or focus. seeing things in another light or if nothing else-- trying 'in this light' and muting the shades of my words, to the simple, the corners of my world right now. corners of my mind and the corners that i've discovered right here, i was perhaps even hiding in them, and now i see, i don't have to go anywhere and they are taking me somewhere completely different.


photos : by c

it's been three years now since i moved back home from the five years of my life that i spent in paris but you won't see any pictures of eiffel towers these days, just cars and pavement buildings and suburbs for now and hours that glow when you really can't tell where i am or where any of us are. and i'm not looking away from these photographs anymore because they're even better in this light-- this isn't to say that i've figured it all out and everything is suddenly perfect for me, because you should have seen me yesterday, but i have my good moments, i don't think that the light at the end of the tunnel was just the flash of my camera, i think you were there with me and actually we both could have seen it but we just didn't-- too busy hiding in the shadows. and really, everyone has pictures of the eiffel tower, so in a way our subtle every day photos are most spectacular because no one else has captured lived laughed or written the moment in this exact light.



x c

missed chances :: express :: train de nuit

.

:: missed chances taking you
where you belong
on an old train found with the one
you'd never dreamed of
until today ::







:: until today
you'd never dreamed of
on an old train found with the one
where you belong
missed chances taking you ::




.




image :: train de nuit the new chanel N°5 film
mirrored poem by moi :: more here on my new blog

shadows in the distance-- light

we're always meant for goodbye, again.
#sixwords




my poetry blog :: chandeliers on the floor
jerry yoon :: image

flashlight :: flash fiction :: sparks fly

i'm so invigorated by the concept and implications of the 'flash fiction' buzz. though i mostly write 'flash non-fiction' or 'flash reality fiction' or 'flash haiku' the notion surrounding this movement-of-sorts has me excited-- exhilarated-- like the h&m the zara of writing, and i'll take one in every color. now. right now.

.

.

i've been participating in flash fiction via my blogs and especially twitter, and on my down days it's the only thing that lifts me up. i will write more about this later, but for the moment it's keeping me on my toes, with the instant ability to generate inspiration and ideas, create, share and have rapid feedback from generous and talented writers-- i think i've finally found my place.

.

this is just a flash-fiction news flash, i will fill in what i left out in a later post-- right now i've gotta run-- {well gotta get ready in a flash, then run}

.

cok optum-- x c

lovely images :: carla coulson

.

::chandeliers::on::the::floor::

carla coulson photo

during an unexpected detour {i still haven't arrived anywhere that even remotely resembles what i thought i'd have found by now} i tripped over a lot of things lying in my path to.... wherever i thought i was going...

for instance, a month or two ago i was looking for a challenging poetry lesson for one of the young students that i tutor in writing. the idea of haiku crossed my mind and five seconds after she complained about the constraints of 17 mere syllables, we were both hooked on the complex simplicity, the lull and force of writing haiku, of capturing moments in the same rhythm and a completely different light. flashes of light. glimpses of what i might otherwise not have told you, honest, courageous, brief, touching, strong, gentle, funny, poignant, subtle breaths of what was almost overlooked and whispered words of longing lost, held, found...

i've been writing haiku and sharing here and there, mostly on twitter, and in the meantime, have met some amazingly talented, creative, inspiring, supportive, fun and generous poets, writers and all-around interesting people, thoughtful and funny, i love funny, i need funny... and with some gentle encouragement that sincerely touched me, i've created a sparkling new blog to catch my fallen words shattered hopes scattered thoughts exhaled pieces together and molded into 17 syllables. 17 syllables that posses the potential to-- well-- you fill in the rest--

because the experience of haiku is personal, unique to each individual who reads it and different in the next moment if you choose to read it again. and haiku is accessible. anyone can find a laugh or a smile, a pause in a hectic day, a moment of peace, reflection, perspective, as your own thoughts echo in the deceptive depth of a single haiku.

most of you just haven't tried yet. i intend to change that. this is my effort. so please stop by ::chandeliers::on::the::floor:: and introduce yourself, and come back..often.. i'll post haiku and short poems {maybe some longer ones...who knows, go crazy!} throughout the day. i love getting to know all of you and your work. find me on twitter and we'll play #haikuwordgame together! i'm kinda shy so you might have to say hi first haha. i will start a list of twitter poets on my new haiku blog to keep the conversation moving.

so please enjoy the charming and charismatic nature of haiku poems that wink at you just when you think you're not looking. don't just read the few collected on my blog-- read as many as you can find. moments of your lives will forever be reflected and changed. {repeat if necessary}
x chantal {aka @inotherwords_c on twitter}

this is me......

image by {one of my favs} carla coulson

they can't understand
doesn't make it easier
to realize---

::

to realize---
doesn't make it easier
they can't understand

what i was going to say--

grab my pen and write

mundane things interrupt my--

stare off-- where are you

::

careful

{but ya, you're careless}

-- but you don't know
and you don't know what else to be,
so you're careless
maybe it's how they taught you
maybe it's what they didn't show
maybe you think it's the only way--
and you never know--

but what you believe--
whatever that may be,
don't really say--
the rest is suspect
only trust yourself
to save, dismiss, inflict-- the pain
and not know the extent--
but if only you could--
but you just don't know

so you're careless
in the words, in the actions,
in the brush of the hand--
the curve of the lips--
the shrug of the shoulder--
but not in your eyes

yet you're careless
quand meme
you're careless
maybe you decided long ago
maybe you think it won't hurt
maybe you think it's the only way
-- gives mask to the fears
don't let yourself realize--
of that i'm certain
and it takes courage to feel
and it takes another kind of strength
to give in, to show, to not walk away, to care--
but you've grown accustomed to your ways,

so you're careless
in all the moments
-- save the glimpses in between
when you see
and i know
but you don't know
and you don't know-- i know--
because you're careless

maybe you decided long ago
to be careless
in the words, in the actions,
in the brush of the hand--
the curve of the lips--
the shrug of the shoulder--
but not in your eyes

just-- careless
maybe you can't help it
and maybe i can't help it
still you're careless
but your eyes--
but i know--
but you just don't-- know, yet--
you may be careless
and somehow--
and maybe one day--
-- and in time
and with time--

and i'm here
to experience details of the world
and falter, and stand
the sadness, fear, and you
in all its intricacies
somehow i've the courage to endure
and i will, and you'll find the way--
i believe you've the strength to care
and so i withstand, at times impatient
and mostly i believe
and i don't care--
and i don't care, any less

{but ya, you're careless}

images: jerry yoon photography

train music

© Eni Turkeshi Photography

wow, i wrote this poem years ago on a train {imagine that} going from bordeaux back to paris, i scribbled it down on an old piece of scrap of paper in my purse..... at the time it meant something completely different to me than what it whispers to me today as i read it over and over after having found it tucked away in the files of my old laptop. it's startling how much it still relates to my life in yet a completely different way... almost prophetic.... big thanks and teşekkürler to eni, it's your gorgeous albanian train photo that reminded me to look for this in the first place. the way past and present, future and memory all blur together - suspended - speeding past in slow motion, through an air that's both very much the same, familiar and yet transformed - changed - leaves me sitting here perplexed, yet i can't help but feel some breath of hope. and this image, this photo, inspires another poetic sentiment within me, which i will share another time. perhaps that whisper i heard was destiny, or maybe just a haunted whistle of trains past.

train music

empty parking lots and street signs
my reflection and reflections
looking out looking in
music and time melt together
not sure how fast we’re going
empty words and broken dreams
looking forward
signs in the distance
going back
not sure how fast we’re going
music and time melt together
looking out looking in
my reflection and reflections
empty parking lots and street signs

dizzy glimpses

image here

my mom said something about a whirling dervish the other day
and suddenly i couldn't hear anything else she was saying
because i was struck with this thought, this image, as my head spun
with the realization. how better these days, than to stand back
and watch my situation from a far, to equate it to a mere dance,
one that others don't often understand but continue to watch
because they wonder what will happen and can't seem to look away,
all at once perplexed, paralyzed, skeptical, transfixed, confused and captivated.

and thus, here i stand,
a whirling dervish of headaches and anxieties
dressed up in flowing prescription medications,
swept up in occasional blurry glimpses of hope,
downward spirals of despair, with a restlessness
that leaves me questioning how i'm still standing,
a caress soft and warm, a gentle breath of air
and deliciously dizzy spins at desire....

or in other words, in the more concise form of haiku that seems to be
twirling about {not to mention twittering about} in my head these days....

•

a whirling dervish
of occasional dizzy
glimpses at desire

•

just passing through

i started this blog in the midst of one of the hardest periods of my life. and i'm still very much stuck here grappling with finding my way out of this mess. i've never really addressed the issues with you here head on, i guess that's not my style, but i do share a glance here and there, notes of sincerity that i'd never before passed on, and discover that some of us find inspiration and solace in the same things. i was lying in bed thinking and thinking and decided to just get up and write this. i was touched by a comment earlier in the evening by blair from delight by design, {one of her many thoughtful comments} and realized how this distant closeness can help us move on, in a way i'd never imagined.

in a constant state of change, rearranging the awkward and precious elements of my life, rummaging around what i have and have failed to hold on to, what i lost, dusty objects of value uncovered, those i hope one day to grasp, and everything in between... i search for perspective and share with you words and thoughts that i've found in myself and in the conviction of others, that capture a distinct sentiment in a particular light that suits my situation in this moment, and often in the next... only inferring at the heart of the matter, because it's the only way that i can pull myself through it.

it's not yet been six months since i started the blog and i've met some kindred spirits, some great talent, and an abundance of inspiration, compassion, and generosity. i glance through the progression of my posts as it documents -- in a hazy sort of light -- the roads i've tried to go down, the ones that i still find covered in fog, jammed with traffic or with one too many curves, and distant roads just around the corner that i've merely seen on a map and have yet to locate on my own, but at least i've got the license and the nagging desire to search for resilience, the {albeit, stop-and-go} drive, to look further ...and to maybe, someday, get there.



thanks for coming with me, and taking me with you, for the occasional honk or wave, and for often lending me the gps and inspiration for routes that i'd never stopped to consider along the way and that, just possibly, can take me.. where i will discover.. where i'll want to go.

x chantal



images: 1}carla coulson 2}julia galdo