Dreamways

Martin Luther King Day. A holiday. It is snowing, such a blessing, even if fleeting, this warm and dry winter! My dance with my Left Arm and Shoulder continues. How many weeks has it been going on?  read more »

Sleep Dream.  Somewhere out in Plum Creek-ish Douglas Co. There’s a condo development club house type of building, wood and glass, cheezy. I arrive there at a Latvian function. I don’t really know anyone there, or if I do, it’s through the past, darkly and distantly.

F is reading a bio of da Vinci. The book deals quite matter-of-factly with Leonardo’s homosexuality. Such a relief! It seems that left handed da Vinci started mirror writing from the beginning of his writing career. How is it that he could not only embrace, as it were, his handedness, but even devise a writing style that worked with this wont, rather than against it? How come this Sinister trait wasn’t beaten out of him?

Such an outsider he was, in so many ways. His brilliant mind never was fettered. How did he do it?  read more »

This rococo TV world continues to filigree its twisted way along.  Bree has developed a drinking problem which she denies. Her power struggle with her gay son is poignant, she having no idea that her comment condemning him to hell for his sexuality deeply injured him, to the point of rage and revenge. In his blind determination to exact justice, his ruthlessness, he is very much her son. With her drinking, Bree has, for the first time I believe, started lying.

My teaching stint Friday at Montview served as a final prod to re-enter the Room of Translation, which door I’d unbolted already by participation in the Writers‘ Group with F and Dora W. So, Friday afternoon I sat down and started cleaning up my Ezera translations, re-doing Latvian diacritical marked letters. I worked on it all day Saturday and part of Sunday. I got all of the Ezera files cleaned up. Sobering, to realize I’d not touched them since autumn of 2004, when I’d transferred them from my Compaq to the Powerbook.  read more »

Piektdienas pēcpusdiena. Saulains. Mazliet vējains. Šur tur pa debesīm izkaisīti plakani mākoņu blāzmo. Šorīt, kamēr sēdēju kantorī gaidīdams klienta ierašanos, mani apciemoja Orens. Viņš vispār pēdējā laikā itin bieži mana prāta acij parādās. Vienmēr kails, vienalga, kur mēs atrodamies. Skaisti, dzīvi, kaislīgi pliks. Viņa baltādainais augums vingrs, muskuļains, veikls. Šorīt domāju par to, ka viņš allaž ir izcili juteklīgs un seksuāls ar mani. Dvēselisks un iejūtīgs – un seksuāls. Šorīt jutos ievainots un ievainojams.  read more »

Late Thursday afternoon. Cloudless. The horizon is stained a sulfurous yellow from pollution. I listen to one of the Kamēr CD’s. What a moving experience was watching the documentary about this exceptional choir and its passionate conductor, Māris Sirmais. Jacket notes explain that the ensamble’s name comes from; „Kamēr esam jauni, mēs dziedam.“ Seventy members, age 15 to 30. A weaving together of voices to create one magnifecent Voice.

 

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Sleep Dream.  It is an ordinary sort of reality. Not one that I know, but nothing unusual. I realize that very soon, I will die. Not a doctor’s diagnosis, just a crystal clear knowing that my death is imminent. "Finally the time has arrived,“ I think, "soon this life will be done.“ I feel calm and curious. I then proceed to take care of various bits of unfinished business. Nothing great or momentous; more the sense of small chores, misc. loose ends to tie up. It all feels calm, relaxed. An odd sense of being aware that each day could be my last.  read more »

Two major and completely unexpected surprises at Donald and Steve’s festive gathering last night. First, the response to my singing of “Dziedat, meitas, vakarā“ was unexpectedly strong and positive, I’ve never received such warm applause, nor gotten such enthusiastic comments about my singing. Not even close. It completely caught me off guard. As I sang, I felt quite centered, with a sense of where I was going musically. When I forgot the penultimate verse, it was a one second blankness and a quick recovery, moving on to the final verse.  read more »