so...i am still recovering.
friday saw the movie, went home.
saturday felt sleepy, megan called.
we hung out and sea kayaked!
the seals were SOOOO cute!
i almost got my voice back.
slept. still sick.
crashed til late sunday morning.
missed breakfast with diane, who i haven't seen in forever.
slept most of sunday to sleep off the rest
of being sick.
dinner? ate with sol. we have korean/vietnamese
and talk a lot about politics, tennis, and the best screensaver ever,
which features a woman with the bounciest breasts i have ever seen.
i drive home after warm soup along my vocal chords,
begin reading The Satanic Verses again and feel really stupid
not to be getting all the references and not understanding
what about this book made him have to hide forever.
There are a lot of pork references. And yes, it is written irreverently.
This reading is not going as quickly as 11 Minutes, which I read in about 2 days time (about 5 hours of bus time). I got lost in that book so easily.
Geneva came alive in my brain and I was a voyuer watching Maria in the sex trade, remarking on the mundane life of a prostitute, watching her make her plans for her real life once she was done making her money. I loved how strong her mind was and how she separated her business from her Self.
The moments in her journal made me think of my journal and I made an epiphany -- I am not how I earn my living. I am more complex than that. I am so many, as of yet, unrealized possibilities. And that I will find myself in a romantic, strange place of adventure, giggling as I write my book with my actions.
Perhaps it started when I was born, but I started my adventure this morning when I stepped off the BART and went to the surface street and entered Milan, Italy on a trolley car. The wooden benches along the side of the car were beautifully lacquered.
The lamps hung from overhead and the car was almost empty. Beautiful posters of Milan were in the car and an anti-smoking freedom flag advertisement asked me "When did smoking become part of us?" with statistics of how many people are killed by cigarettes. I entered into the realm of my new tome - The Satanic Verses and tried to imagine the diction of the characters. One who is trying to erase every bit of his Bombay origins by adopting everything English and causing a chasm between him and his father in the meantime. India and Pakistan have just begun their war to separate - Mother from Son? Perhaps an earthquake that needed to happen to illustrate sovereignty between two distince peoples?
I don't know. I walk slowly, sit, and let the sunlight come over my shoulder and I open the book and begin reading.
The car stops and characters come on, asking me for change, telling me I am pretty. Their voices are altered, sick, deepened with phlegm. Their faces are lined with age, colored with exposure to the elements. I put up my psychic shield and I am lost in my book, at least until the Civic Center Station where I switch to a 9-San Bruno bus and head to work. A few more stops and Bombay and London disappear and I am working with youth, helping them finish their web pages that are due in about a week.