Skip to main content

Uncrossing the Stars



I remember one sunny day in September, sitting on the corner of Dwight and Telegraph, strumming my guitar absent-mindedly—what song is this again?—my myopic eyes in constant scanning patterns, searching crowds, reminiscent of the night before, when I found and lost and found you again. Remember I gave you that American Beauty that my friend plucked from the Cosmic Splat? I still smell its sweet petals somehow. And then we spent the night in a forest of eucalyptus by a running stream and caught the first rays of sunshine in each other’s faces. Yes?

But then you left. I remember watching you go, feeling doom settle into my marrow, regretting that I somehow played my stoic card too well, frightened that indifference leaked in with that borrowed Dylan line: we’ll meet again on the Avenue. What do you do, though, when you’re young and your heart is paved with scar tissue? Loving hard hurts.

And so I bent strings and searched, but the day was fading, and I needed money, so out came my tarot deck for fortune telling: past, present, future, power of individual to control the matter, hopes and fears, fate and environment, final outcome… ad nauseum, always keeping those dark major arcanum at the deck’s bottom. All along my eyes continued darting around, searching desperately.

Fear crept in. Maybe you were lost. You didn’t even know Berkeley, and why… why was I so stupid to let you go? I should have stayed with you, made sure you got home at least. And, then, deep from that dark burrow where rejection resides came a mocking voice, taunting me, assuring me someone so wonderful was never meant for me, “Good fortune has moved on, sucker. Enjoy misery.”

Whatever. Good riddance, right? Women are so complicated anyhow. But now I was pissed, stabbed again. I hate Love. Love is merciless.

Isn’t it funny how life just seems to pivot on a few key moments? Right then was mine, ours, when you appeared and rescued me from loneliness forever.


Thank you, my dearest, for coming back to me.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Amanda Gorman is a rock star poet.

Mr. President, Dr. Biden, Madam Vice President, Mr. Emhoff, Americans and the world: (ed. my stanzas and line breaks which are probably not right) When day comes, we ask ourselves Where can we find light in this never ending shade? The loss we carry, a sea we must wade. We braved the belly of the beast. We've learned that quiet isn't always peace And the norms and notions of what "just is," isn't always justice. And yet the dawn is hours before we knew it, Somehow we do it, Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed A nation that isn't broken but simply unfinished. We, the successors of a country and a time, Where a skinny black girl descended from slaves And raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, Only to find herself reciting for one. And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, But that doesn't mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge our union with purpose, To compose a country committed To a

Script Abbreviations in Screen Writing

SCRIPT ABBREVIATIONS  ELS extreme long shot  MLS medium long shot  LS long shot  MS medium shot  MCU medium close-up  CU close-up  ECU extreme close-up  OS over-the-shoulder shot  2-S or 3-S two-shot or three-shot  POV point of view shot  ZI or ZO zoom in or zoom out  INT interior  EXT exterior  SOT or SOF sound on tape or sound on film BG background  SFX or F/X special effects (can be either sound or visual)  VO voice-over  OSV off-screen voice  DIS dissolve  MIC microphone  VTR videotape  Q cue (as in cue talent)  ANNCR announcer  SUPER superimposition

Nwahulwana

Wazimbo's "Nwahulwana" Found this on a German site: Warum wanderst du von Bar zu Bar? (“Why do you wander from bar to bar?”) So, the first time I heard this I thought I recognized some Portuguese, but it’s illusory; the language is actually Ronga. I suppose it was just the echoes of Brazilian music. I found, though, a translation into Portuguese, which I will translate to English, but here’s the thing: this transcription of the words isn’t correct. Also, I’m almost certain I hear “vôce” which means “you” in the lyrics. First, “nwahulwana” itself is a soft expression for prostitute, hence “night bird” is the poetic meaning. I thought it was a love song. My wife thought it was a prayer (probably because of the way Wazimbo lifts his eyes to the sky when he sings “Maria”). So, it is something like this, but there are mistakes, because the lines don’t match up. Also, I wonder if he is singing “Nwahulwana” when the song starts - . It’s hard to know since I don’t