the why.

if you do not breathe through writing,

if you do not cry out in writing,

or sing in writing,

then don't write,

because our culture has no use for it.

anaïs nin

why am i compelled to write?
is that what makes you a writer--that compulsion?
compulsion sounds so hard. forced.
but that's what it is, isn't it?
that need to write, regardless of who reads or doesn't.
it's not about the writing.
it's about the writing.
this force that pushes itself against your skin,
mercilessly pushing, though temperamental in coming.
we write for the process itself.
the words. the punctuation.

the spacing.

the way everything is brought together in a combination previously unknown.
the way it comes when it comes and can't be forced.
not really.
not when it's real.

one could make a grand living on writing for others.
tolstoy himself brought forth the moral dilemma of writing for profit,
though it be at times against your morals.
he said he could make a fortune were he willing to do so.

but that's not why we write, is it?
certainly, there's place for writing as entertainment.
but it's not about entertainment.
it's about what it exudes.
what it extrapolates.
what it makes you to feel and be and do.
to be appreciated. as is.
for beauty or emotional power.
this is when writing is art.
are we not all artists?

i read this article from time magazine a while back about writing.
about dealing with anxiety, tragedy, or heartache.
writing.
expressive writing.
writing to find meaning.
writing to re-evaluate what has occurred.
writing in order to see.
writing to let go.

because.
once living has been put into words,
it's somewhere else.
resting in the absorbent void
     purposeful letters, spacings, and punctuation.
and once it's there --
it's there.
and you.
you can perhaps

to some degree


let go.

the words.

i have a russian dictionary app on my phone.

and until recently, it was easily and by far the most frequently used app.

it resides in that place at the bottom of the screen--

that place for the most-used of all.

phone, messages, gmail.

and my slovoed dictionary.

i can't bring myself to demote it to another location.

because doing so means i'm demoting russian in my life.

which.

turns out.

i am.

because.

#emsgoingtogradschool

my focus for most of the past year and a half has been russian.

for the past three years, really.

except for applying to grad school and a couple things here and there.

mostly it's been all russian.

especially in the past year.

russian has been all-consuming.

but for the next two years?

my shift is focusing, my focus is shifting.

and my focus will be all things speech-language pathology.

because.

#emsgoingtogradschool

a good grad school.

a good program.

really good, actually.

and i love speech pathology.

it's dandy and great and i get excited about it too.

and yet.

i still can't get myself to move the russian dictionary.

to nourish and grieve.

i still remember the first time i studied the parable of the olive tree in russian. really studied it, i mean. because of course i'd read it and gone through parts. (and already studied it in english, obviously.) but then came a time when i went deeper.

it was in the autumn and i was in a threesome--my penultimate companionship. (when wasn't i, really? that's how it seems sometimes.) and in the process i kept having more and more of those moments to add to the already hundreds of times that i'd concluded, the gospel is truer in russian. maybe it's not, but it sure feels that way. i don't even know quite how to express the same thing in english.

что ещё мог[ла] я сделать для виноградника своего? i find myself asking this a lot--what could i have done more for my vineyard? he asks twice. first in verse forty-one, then in forty-nine. what more could i have done? is there more? i don't just ask it in regards to my mission, though i think everyone does that too. in life. is there more i should have done or should be doing? it's a frequent perpetual wonder. especially when in limbo. or when applying to graduate school. or. anytime, really.

the lord of the vineyard, though. he doesn't just ask. he works and works and works again. because life ultimately comes down to nourishment. what do we choose to nourish? how do we choose to nourish? where do we nourish? who do we nourish?

i think the beautiful thing about jacob 5 is the manner in which the lord of the vineyard nourishes. he always is carrying hope, all the day long.
11. чтобы я, быть может, мог сохранить его корни.
[that perhaps i might preserve the roots thereof.]
20. я так долго удобрял её, и она принесла много плода.
[this long time have i nourished it, and it hath brought forth much fruit.]

over and over again he says these things. that perhaps i might. this long time he nourishes. with a maybe and a might. and you know what else he keeps saying? горько мне потерять это дерево.

eight times, he says, it grieveth me.

7. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree. 
11. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree. 
13. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree and the fruit thereof.
32. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree.
46. it grieveth me that i should lose them.
47. it grieveth me that i should hew down all the trees of my vineyard, and cast them into the fire that they should be burned.
51. it grieveth me that i should lose the trees of my vineyard.
66. it grieveth me that i should lose the trees of my vineyard.

i don't know about you, but i'd say that's a lot of grief. in russian, though, it's phrased like this. горько мне (gorko mne). here are just a few of the potential translations: to me it is bitter. it pains and distresses me. it makes me sick at heart. i am grieved. because горе (gore) carries more than a one-word translation of grief. it can describe grief. woe. sorrow. misfortune. distress. trouble. broken heart.  and that carries so much more richness of meaning than just grief, don't you think? because to lose anyone at all is distressing.

and you know what else? he doesn't clear the bad until the very last possible moment. at the seventh declaration of grief, he says i will spare it a little longer, for it grieveth me. because he wants us all to grow. he wants so that we were all preserved. over and over he nourishes some more, never casting off until the very last possible moment when he absolutely has to do so. and even then, it is only because he must clear away the bad for the good to be able to grow.

furthermore, from jacob five на русском i also learned this. there are those who will not bring forth fruit, despite the labor given to their nourishment. be not weary of good works. agency means that some fruits never blossom--by their own choice. that doesn't mean the nourishment, labor, and love was for nothing. sometimes that just happens. despite the effort. regardless of the effort. notwithstanding all our labor (32), notwithstanding all the care (46). and these statements of loss, are followed directly with the grief to be losing. the labor is not rendered futile in the lack of fruition. it's just that sometimes--notwithstanding--that's all you can do. чтобы в последний раз все были снова удобрены (63). and in english, this is translated as, that all may be nourished once again for the last time. but when i read it in russian, it sounds more like, so that in the end, all were nourished again.

and yet. he keeps trying. keeps nourishing. keeps planting and moving the branches.
even when he knows the notwithstanding is coming.
he keeps trying, that perhaps he might.

and this? this is love and mercy in its purest form.

this lesson that began in saltovka, and never really ends.
the nourishing and the grieving any loss of that which we cherish.
notwithstanding--justice, love, and mercy keep on meeting.
as they should, wouldn't you say?

with time to spare.

i have a complete intolerance for ever feeling useless.

do you ever get words or phrases trapped in your head? i do. maybe it's the writer in me, maybe it's that i think too much. on the day i was born the rain came down. that's one of those phrases that has its own track in my brain. i'm not sure what it means. just something.

i don't have many thoughts these days. or i have too many. and my words are stuck inside me. not necessarily trapped. i think some of them feel safer inside. but. they are stuck.

i just finished listening to a tree grows in brooklyn. (whilst commuting. i don't even want to know what that computes as for the amount of time i've spent driving to and from work this summer.) never read it? stop. right this very second. read it. a beautiful coming-of-age novel. a masterpiece on the art of living.

i've moved on to my next listeningwhilecommuting book--extremely loud and incredibly close. i wasn't in love with it at first, but at the same time. i can't stop. it is incredibly thought-provoking. i am in love with some of the passages.

i wondered if he knew. this is one of those thought-provokers. because it can mean much. and. in any situation, we may wonder about what the other can tell. what if we could always know how others perceive?

sometimes, i tend to do this thing where i assume everyone i know should know each other in addition to knowing me. and. obviously, sometimes this is true. but. not always. the other day at work, i saw the mother of a friend from high school. and after work i almost told someone from my ukraine-ing days about it, but realized they have absolutely no idea who these people are. why doesn't everyone know everyone? life's real questions.

if your life's biography were reduced to one word, what would that be? in extremely loud and incredibly close, there's this old man and a little boy. the little boy finds a card with a famous person's name on it and one other word. the old man says it's his biography--reduced to one word. this little boy, surprised that this is all he wrote, asks him if he couldn't write more. and the old man says, novels and novels could be written. but he chose one word. for cards and cards of people, he chose one word. and it made me to wonder two things: if i were one word, what would my word be? and. could there be novels and novels written about me and my life?

my to-do lists lately consist of things like this:
books i want to finish reading soon // observation hours for grad school to finish before orientation // temple. (it's sad how many times i moved this on my calendar before finally going. #workingonit.) // getting myself to write. really write. // getting myself to sleep. really sleep. (why is this so hard for me?)
not your average to-do list. but. it'll do, won't it? #summer? i realized today while chittering with someone about it, that this is one of the things i do when boredinclass, so to speak. i write my thinkerings in the margins of notebooks. or i write to-do lists in a planner. normal? don't answer that.

i'm just living for the little things these days. hold onto hope, love.

while i like change, i don't like extended periods of transition. i'm over it. i'm ready to belong for more than five minutes in some aspect of my life.

i'm in search of the remedy for when boots become heavy. them heavy boots. for all the heavy boots in the world. what is to be done? what even can be done?

i don't think there's an even distribution of recorded life events. most of that which has actually happened in my life--or even just in this summer--is nowhere to be found. most would never know one event or another, were they not involved. that's the other thing i realized in chittering today. so many things. no one ever knows. all those pieces of my biography. when it comes down to it, i prefer it that way. the many layers of krem.

and also. in other news. three years. THREE. i can't even. (more about this later. potentially.)



odd hodge podge of stream of consciousness going nowhere, anyone?

engines won't turn and the train won't leave.

some music recommendations from yours truly.

brought to you by life's lately listenings.

(because. who doesn't love a good little list of songs to try on?)

photograph, ed sheeran.

hurt, johnny cash.

fight song, rachel platten.
[^^i know. cliché. but who can resist a good life-affirming anthem like this? right. no one.]

fix you, coldplay.

both sides now, joni mitchell.

mess is mine, vance joy.

take care, tom rosenthal.

the stable song, gregory alan isakov.

mama said, the shirelles.

walking in memphis, marc cohn.
i lived, one republic.

comes and goes (in waves), greg laswell.
[also. nope. ^^this song still hasn't gotten old.]

stay alive, jose gonzalez.

bright, echosmith.
the one who loves you the most, brett dennen.

the light, sara bareilles.
holocene, bon iver.

i will follow you into the dark, death cab for cutie.

time will tell, gregory alan isakov.

morning light, josh garrels.

also. i know.
weirdest mix of sounds and styles and tempos that you've ever heard?
some sad, some joyous, some heart-wrenching, some heart-healing.
some oldies, some newies, and some inbetweenies.
you're welcome.

пожалуйста, пожалуйста.

life [not] in technicolor.

time came a creeping.

oh, and time's a loaded gun.

every road is a ray of light.

it goes on.

time only can lead you on.

still. it's such a beautiful night.

coldplay, life in technicolor ii

because a picture speaks (over) a thousand words.

and because i don't really want to talk about the word part of life since graduation. 

song of the day: life in technicolor ii, coldplay.