supposed to be writing (#26)
... & i'm feeling forgetful
“everything is under control,” the bench says to you in the words of a former occupant. you sat down, because you wanted your things to settle in front of you in the same way that the leaves are piling up. this is a love letter to leaves, brown and crisped by the cold or the heat or the lack of sun. this is a love letter to the damp underlayer of mulch, the rain that transforms bare mud with the addition of fallen traces of summer. you were walking, nose in an inbox, and the sidewalk turned gingko green, a blanket of brightness, seasonal confusion like the man scraping leaves like ice from his windshield. the wind supports the leaves in their tireless campaign against the pavement, dulling the crunch of intrepid sneakers. for a fraction of a second, i see what might happen, if we let them be; for a fraction of second, a forest blooms and repopulates, seeds bursting into light out of the soft wreckage. some leaves cling resolutely to branches; the other side is a pointillism of individual twigs against the grayscale clouds, interrupted only by breakthrough sky, a still blue that turns the dry leaves orange.
i keep entering this scene and hearing this whisper: everything is under control. who else is speaking into the wind? the sirens that cut through and the trucks backing up. parler dans le vent, to make up things (a future) that sound nice, just to say them: everything is under control, like a special kind of writer’s block, a temporary paralysis, hung up and wrung out on the corner of something beautiful.
you don’t have to get things right, i think is another way of hearing it. and this is almost harder to bear: “but there’s no sort of one kind of hidden track, you know, that’s there waiting for you. it’s… you’ve just got to step into it. one does all sorts of things with painting. you do all the things that are not right but they all contribute to the thing that will be right in the end.” i am just a reaction to the event, a waiting link in the chain set off before time. time unravels, or at least it feels that way as you try to step into it, eyes shut or vision blurred from a rebellious contact. this is one solution to the frustration of waiting: i stop, and nothing changes on the surface. i stop, and stare into the muted distance. it’s easier to wade through noise like wind or rain, uncountable shushing that somehow starts, somehow stops. today (no longer today) carries a chill and the scent of a wood-burning fire, and these things are beyond my control and don’t need me to be true.
– feed me
i’m tired of everything, but trying new things is much too risky (ahem, 2x disappointed making a coffee cake whose primary flavor is “sweet”). i basically forgot that it’s soup season (here’s the soup that reminded me), but remembered this cabbage roll soup in the recent archives. not surprisingly, i also forgot about a soup that I made almost weekly circa ‘20/’21 (who knows): to make it a meal, add challah and wine, and maybe eat more protein at lunch.
potato leek soup
via alison roman, the taylor swift of recipe developers.
acquire 1-2 leeks with as much dark green tops as you can find, which you’ll sliver into tiny strips (low fodmap until the green gets lighter/white). to rinse the filthy devil, scoop the chopped pieces into a large bowl filled with water, swishing around before letting the green float to the top and the dirt settle to the bottom. peel 2-3 yellow potatoes, and slice into ½” thin rounds or maybe half-moons, depending on your mood. chuck the potatoes and the leeks into a big pot, and cover with water, approx. 5 cups – 1.5 L. add in the corresponding amount of bouillon, and frankly a tiny bit extra: i’ve endlessly extolled the virtues of knorr’s chicken bouillon powder, but if you don’t partake, maybe you should add a bit of msg to whatever you’re using. bring to a boil, then simmer for 20+ minutes, or however long you want. when the potatoes are soft enough that you can smash some with a spoon for a textural thing, add some hand-torn or roughly chopped dark leafy greens (chard, kale, mustard — go wild) and cook til adequately wilted. spoon in a generous dollop or two of sour cream/yogurt/vegan versions, and stir til it looks less weird. finish the soup with a glug of vinegar (essential), and serve topped with sliced green onion and whatever herbs you forgot you had lying around in the fridge. this is great for when you’re feeling both cheap and lazy, and could use some comfort.
– watch me / remember me
i have been reading, but i don’t feel like recapping atm. {i had a conversation with someone about connecting photos to memories, where the picture could allow you to remember not just the event but the process of taking the picture and other tangential moments. anyway, i’m not ready to snapshot those novels.} next up: i think i’m about to reread l’ère du soupçon.
i usually fall into some genre-specific rabbit hole as the weather gets worse, and the nights are longer: last year was dramas, this year seems to be actual films.
decision to leave (park chan-wook, 2022): i’ve completely fallen for tang wei, who stars as the chinese-born wife of a korean immigration officer who dies after climbing a mountain. naturally, the detective investigating the death (park hae-il) falls in love with her instantly, which is communicated perfectly by the lush boxes of sushi he orders when they pause the interview for a dinner break (what a strange way to describe this movie, but w/e). i loved the visual representation of spying and recreating the scene of the murders, a humor that made up for a few unsatisfying plot holes in the second half of the film. the ending was horrifying and beautiful, appropriately literary and narratively unavoidable, which probably says a lot about me.
joanna hogg: unrelated (2007); archipelago (2010) : british bourgeois dramas, perfectly quiet, with longform hyper/realist (aka my current research dada) conversations and stunning landscape shots. tom hiddleston. it’s the sort of dialogue that is so trite that it goes from sincere to ironic and back again (example cited above). i want to see her latest film, a ghost story starring tilda swinton, so i’m suspending my critical lens for now.
i also saw tank and the bangas shortly before their grammy nom, and stromae was incredible, making the most depressing lyrics (mon amour, solassitude, riez, etc) still bop. sho madjozi was the opener and exudes the energy you’d want to carry you through this year.
– tell me
on cloud sneakers : do you wear them? do you like them? puffer jackets: can they be short or should they cover your bum? with or without a hood? winter body lotion: tub or tube? cerave, aveeno, la roche posay? beyond the brand, which one specifically? is it worth asking the cvs employee to unlock the shelf? are you sure?