Vignettes of Lost Men: Stephen Crane

Stephen Crane wrote 'we are the most successful in art when we approach the nearest to nature and truth.' He described the inconsistent vocation of the soul of man and the incapacity of man to uphold a straight moral line. His novel the Red Badge of Honor gave him considerable success, and is perhaps a great read to reflect on the choices of former POW Bowe Bergdahl. Now forgotten and sinking to the lesser bowels of history, another unconventional thinker and a flickering light of guidance, lost to our collective memory. We are all in an open boat, at risk to capsize as soon as we shift our positions, so we stay put and drift along. New Yorker: The Hectic Career of Stephen Crane
date: July 4th, 2014 | categories: vignettes | tags: ,, ,

The Perception of Sea Time

she dances like bouncing particles on top of the foaming waves a venus rising out of passing water from the splashed semen of Uranus she moves like the soul a ship a glazing stare of round fish eyes hiding under the surface fleece like the faring sea I see then feel the sudden calm before the rush of changing motion a roaring gust of salty wind that combs through her light blond hair awning layers of hovering clouds along the singing circles of air casting a landscape of shadows on the ocean's running blues
date: May 4th, 2014 | categories: maritime, poetry | tags: ,

Silhouettes (2) (Bengaluru)

A slim figure in an hotel uniform greets me, even among the aligned Indians waiting with name cards held up at the exit of the arrival hall, he looks remarkably slender. His cheekbones, his carved out, dark eyes, his black eyebrows that cover his stare, and his full mustache characterize his bony face. During the drive from the airport to the hotel, I mainly look at the strip of mirrored eyes, as he proudly tells the story of his love marriage. After five years, their child compelled his wife's family to reconcile and compromise, but it was a long story he proudly tells.
date: April 13th, 2014 | categories: read | tags:


Girl in the Window

The protagonist of Girl in the Window sits at home. He stares outside and is tired of being alone at home again. He takes a walk into the city from Gramercy to the East Village, finishes a drink and walks back home around midnight. He enters a massage parlor, leaves, and returns home. He stares at the windows across, and observes a single lighted room.

Girl in the Window is a short story that takes place in New York. In one sleepless night, it describes an evening in the life of one man.
"I feel like an erratic dust particle twirling in a ray of sun light, revealing the inconsistent essence of the heaven. I make my way down, floating on the gusts of air. The streets slowly fill with a lively activity of young men and women. I feel more lighthearted from the younger energy here. The buzzing activity of hipster boys and attractive girls on the street is contagious. I feel the rush of adrenaline, dopamine and oxytocin, being amongst people again. The brush of physical contact awakens an uncanny desire. I pass the tinted windows of an Irish pub, the transparent window of an Asian fusion restaurant, the spotless glass facade of a Korean beauty parlor, the mirror window of a barber shop with its vintage interior, and the colored displays of a corner store with advertisements pasted across the window. All invite a myriad of gazes into their projected worlds."
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Cretan Bulgari

I have a Cretan bulgari, a short-necked tamburas in Greek or baglama or saz in Turkish, sometimes called a çöğür in Turkish, tuned in the style of the saz, with a quarter tones. I have it tuned in C G D. From upper to lower strings the first and second are the round-wound metal strings, also the thickest strings. The third and fourth strings are the same, and the sixth and seventh strings are the same. The rosetta style sound hole is on the upper side.