"The most fortunate man or woman is not the one who makes the most money or wins the widest fame, but the one whose daily work is a joy and by reason of that enjoyment has in itself some of the zest of play."

-The Modern Newspaper (1936)

espresso et nasser

A much missed love of mine is the exploration of global politics in conjunction with writing about them. i can't wait to have means to my mode.

I will pray to all variations of the gods if please please please I pass the march 15th entrance tests I'm required to take. Scratch that, too conflicting. I will however be thankful. About time I get back to business.

4 x espresso, moleskin, and global politics here I come!

entrance testing.

On the docket tonight is reading some of Plato's Symposium, TIME magazine's article by , Twentieth Century: A Brief Global History, and this fabulous copy of The Modern News (copyright 1936).  Box wine & Boccherini included. Way fun.

aci, aussi, I see.

A few things I certainly need to touch up on before May 5th are..

Becoming Amicable:

The composure I seek to have while I'm away is a threatening young woman. I mean this not in terms of violence, but fierce. Powerful. Memorable.  I want to be approachable. 

The essence of my Creativity:

Is feeling quite low. I'm uninspired by winter. Overwhelmed by darkness throughout the day. A big blank. If this emotion were to be drawn out until my adventure I would be devastated to say the least.

Finding Inspiration (everywhere):

I wish this was a substance at my disposal. I make the mistake of not searching for it enough, hence the blathering on about how uncreative/ uninspired I am . Ouvir mes yeux pour changer. Well not everywhere, but more often than not.

Y-O-U

Cette; du vrai beau amour.

tu tu tu tu

y-o-u.

mars

I wish I could feel more than the winds of March against my skin.
Thoughts of palms will keep me warm
visions of lisbon will get me through this
soon, soon, sooner than i can even imagine.

it’s life, and life only.

There's no use for cryin'.

Only while listening to Boccherini in the bath. Or the car. In bed. By mere thought of chord. I want to learn to say "I love this" in every language of the world. Genuine; like a heartbeat. Oxygen. Raw, tender passion. This is what I want.  The divine yet essential human desire. 

 Say it.

"J'aime cette."

I watched the beads of sweat, of water, evaporate or drip down from the nape of your neck, to the small of your back. The candles heat along with steam sensationalized each tiny pearl, rolling off your body.