Wednesday, March 21

go mod

i want the clean lean look.
skinny jeans with ballet flats or stilleto boots
fudgy corduroy jacket is good
so i googled - fat people hate skinny jeans
nice discussion board i found

it's true. sigh.
i am doomed to look hoggy in them, at best maybe frumpy.

since the flower style broad base is narrowing, blink and the sharp mod will be here.
i hope the skirts worn high up at the waist constriction is back
post war style. i like.
dunno if itll catch on, people are still hungover on the low waist. (cause they think high waist is so makapao) thatll be good. i dont want everyone wearing it.
o i love fitting skirt high up at the waist. nice mod look jacket with feminine cut shirt inside
with skinny heel boots.
i saw a bag yesterday that'll go. black and white clean knitted to a rough grey.a bizzaro orange tan is good too. just out of clockwork orange.

enough kalamkari i have worn
cotton earth tones relaxed bordering on chhapri

Tuesday, March 20

amar shokol niye boshe achhi shorbonasher aashaye
ami tar lagi poth cheye achhi pothe je jon bhashaye
je jon dae na dekha jae je dekhe
bhalo bashe aaral theke
amar mon mojechhe shei gobhire gopon bhalobashaye.

Saturday, March 10

pathetic and tragic

From 2002 until this year, NASA’s mission statement, prominently featured in its budget and planning documents,
read: “To understand and protect our home planet; to explore the universe and search for life; to inspire the next generation of explorers … as only NASA can.”

In early February, the statement was quietly altered, with

the phrase “to understand and protect our home planet” deleted.

Saturday, March 3

was to write

of my blue purple skirt umbrella cut and being unready and fear and lessons in feeling and the crows we watched and a raspberry for valentine of falling in some affection down deep into the rabbit hole where youre suddenly big and small suddenly and your head is stuck in the chimney. of my bedroom window that looked like it was out of a gothic terrorspook that brought out veins and webs and long fingers and dirty thick hair and hung daggers from mosquito nets and crawling into ma in the night. The verandah door that opened on dewy wintermornings to akas that were out of some ice in the eyes. i was a cow once and again when the lights go off. and jump to flail into the earth a tamarind tree and wimmyn that cleaned toilets in the chalky house they rested. The cotton trees in the breeze and gathering and choking
of writing letters with blue string preludes and waiting for moments where it was all yellow day and pixies and piracies and hopskotch and discussing november twentythree of long long ago at the hostelsteps hoping the cramps would never go and watching green and pointing happy and another lesson in feeling.
of somethings in the eye for smooth functioning