The Noresoup Jukebox

Peter Cat Recording - Floated By drunk on wine my formidable friends cooped up in this lonely room unafraid of difficult conversations and its emotional landscape. Emmett Sir takes the stage, speaks at length about being the head of a family at this very tender age. Mordechai on my shoulder we make a promise if we hang around too late on the shelf we must marry once we turn 40. And yes! I make a declaration. no man is enough for me, so forget their wit and intellect. I would like only, to have someone who can hold  space for me, and my wild tangents, and the crippling ruminations with ease. Rin finds it hard to agree and perhaps I should too and it might be sooner than later that I repeal my silly declaration. Then she tells me to be selfish for myself and Emmett Sir pours three shots to that. my throat closes up how to swallow such a daunting pill? for I have loved others so very fiercely in all the ways I know to love, and yet when the loving is to be received, I freeze and come ...

Halo - Alice Phoebe Lou laundry basket scattered on the terrace this little life of mine sun, loving me so very fiercely i forget that there was a time my now dry hands folded in prayer for a moment of leisure such as this and how many years have passed since then? when I felt so forlorn in Delhi? when I played housewife at age 22 and I wanted so deeply to have someone see me. wrestling sleeplessness till 4 am classes stretching on till very late evening and when I got home, so much to do, and so little understanding. and why did God not answer? was it that I had too many pleas? was He listening to them one by one, and now, still deciding, which one He might put at ease? well, no wonder my luggage weighed so heavy. as i hang up the fresh linen, and take in the hills and the scorching sun, it becomes clear to me that I had placated all my past hurt and now they are surfacing, blisters on my skin popping one by one.

Emmett Sir, what would i do without knowing i have you? you know what my laughter means and can decipher the shifts in tone and lilt and if i come to you, battered and bruised, not even knowing  the words that might describe appropriately, you sit there with me in silence like you understand, even if not fully. and when has a joke revived someone at the wake? what emotion is a problem that requires a solution? you read my mind, allow me to cry, you don't impose a logical reason. and how hard it must have been, for you to do it all alone. wisdom and empathy built from so many years of grovelling before you were grown. yet not many learn from their pain, their years of neglect and guilt. lucky am I that I found you, man of humour, power, and emotional intellect, not having wasted a single drop from all those years of tears shed. lucky is the ground that holds you, and every room you walk into, and luckiest am I  for having known you all those silly growing years you made my yout...

Misty May, Book fair with Mordechai today I wish you could have come, although little would have impressed you for the books incited little fun. Then we stopped by Autumn Brew, still a very lovely cafe. I got a dirty matcha, no sugar, as always, but the caffeine carried me away. It's been lovely playing passenger, I no longer drive as much. Though I do miss you,  scolding me from the back telling me not to rush to the front. In other news, I am at a very  slow, liminal space;  this still-very-lovely life of mine. A few months of trying to find the right answers to --- what will you do? What is next in line? God must be busy opening someone's jar or saving a car from getting towed, Haven't heard from Him quite yet, though my neighbour said  He helped her dead Bougainville grow. Yes, the flowers must bloom in time first, and the clouds must hide till the laundry dries. Misty May, tell me in my silly  predicament, this awful state of being, how must I try to get by...

strawberry cream tea  and this old, damp balcony rin and i at twenty four watching the city lights turn off, one hill at a time small cities do not change much.  rin's ladybird hung in the air like wind chimes, ceramic, winds of change having so much to say and leaves us pondering. how did we survive all those years? and why was love so painful? shifting in my seat camping gear, makeshift table rin wearing butter yellow though seeping red and my disposition growing heavier with every memory dissected the smell of my old twin bed lingers. witnesses may laugh for our lives are now so very different and yet, somehow, all the very same. rin takes the forefront  in all the painful liminal spaces, and she saves me when i find myself in the same terrible darkness. let us trust in what has happened we say there is not much else we can do clarity is in the psalms we once rejected and in the psalms that then saved you and what is God if all He does is answer in riches to every pray...

    all the writers who loved me      wrote about me so very lovingly      mistaking my wit for intellect      and my sorry state for perpetual melancholy           and those who cared little           about what I had to think           satiated their curiosity             with visual feasting           infatuating doll that can bend and moan                 and the ones who loved me sincerely                died so very many moons ago.                waning, waxing, crescent, gibbous,                what do I know? and now this vain pursuit offering love that is to die soon affection that may only las...