black shoes, black socks, black shirt, indigo jeans, brown hair, black coat

If it weren’t a problem of cultural appropriation, I would learn to wear saris and then wear them every day, because I think they’re the most beautiful garments yet invented for women. However, given that I’m a mostly-white girl living in central Canada, and I work in an anti-racist environment of a major university, I think I probably can’t carry it off.

I’m getting used to seeing women in a huge range of hijab. When I started university in 1995, it was relatively rare to see women in headscarves. On any given day now, I see girls and women in hip outfits with stunning scarves wrapped around their hair, women in swirling hair-veils that cover them to their hips over contrasting, flowing dresses, women in severe black chadors with kick-ass shoes and jeans showing at the hem, and a few women in niqabs, swathed in grey and settled in corners under the stair studying calculus.
I feel very drab sometimes.

I know there’s a particular racism in objectifying non-whiteness. That said, I wish there was some straightforward way I could let people, particularly women, I see know how fabulous I think they look.

In this spirit, I randomly complimented some guy’s elaborate beard this morning. He was wearing sweatpants. I think he may have had the flu.

—jane st. clair

the once and future king

“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”

—T.H. White

laniate

wordjournal:

verb • to tear in pieces

today I was charged a thousand dollars in room damages and also almost evicted but my charm saved me from joining the hastings hobos. and then I spent hours in a tiny studio streaming technodubtrancehop through the speakers, clawing at the skin on my cheeks and turning over tremendous thoughts about love and chemistry in my head and then I zeroed the boards and stepped outside and found the five-act structure really does exist in real life. so sober at the pub tonight I bit into a beer-soaked chicken wing and thought ‘this it it, cass, you’ve hit your limit’ and I scanned the darkened booths it was another reminder how off the rails I’ve been the past few weeks, sunday ie three mornings ago I woke up and thought ‘november, it’s time’ and that was my ticket out of here, no concessions

so train rides to seattle + russian army winter coats + the lingering taste of milk in my mouth. red-leafed trees disrobing, chalking messages on concrete walls but the rain keeps washing them away. I’m hurtling towards something big and deep and inevitable, all the barriers that tell me where I end and the world begins are shaken from their moorings but sinking slowly amongst the rubble, it’s okay we’re okay. where do we go from here, our beautiful lost generation

Thirty Six

It’s nice sometimes
to open up the heart a little
and let some hurt come in.
It proves you’re still alive.

If nothing else
it says to you–
clear as a high hill air,
uncomfortable
as diving through cold water–

I’m here.
However wretchedly I feel,
I feel.

I’m not sure
why we cannot shake
the old loves
from our minds.
It must be that
we build on memory
and make them more
than what they were.
And is the manufacture
just a safe device
for closing up the wall?

I do remember.
the only fuzzy circumstance
is sometimes where and how.
Why, I know.

It happens
just because we need
to want and to be
wanted, too,
when love is here or gone
to lie down in the darkness

and listen to the warm.

—Rod McKuen

After a while

After a while you learn 
the subtle difference between 
holding a hand and chaining a soul 
and you learn 
that love doesn’t mean leaning 
and company doesn’t always mean security. 
And you begin to learn 
that kisses aren’t contracts 
and presents aren’t promises 
and you begin to accept your defeats 
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, 
not the grief of a child 
and you learn 
to build all your roads on today 
because tomorrow’s ground is 
too uncertain for plans 
and futures have a way of falling down 
in mid-flight. 
After a while you learn 
that even sunshine burns 
if you get too much 
so you plant your own garden 
and decorate your own soul 
instead of waiting for someone 
to bring you flowers. 
And you learn that you really can endure 
you really are strong 
you really do have worth 
and you learn 
and you learn 
with every goodbye, you learn…

—Veronica Shoffstall

"The aim of literature is the creation of a strange object covered with fur which breaks your heart."