Crowd of Drifters

"Sometimes the sun is too bright And it burns you like acid
You get to love driving at night The moon is so close you can kiss it
I used to remember you smiling and waving
I don't think I can anymore "
Magnetic Fields, Crowd of Drifters



The roads are turning into firecrackers which light up under my skin and leave me turned on like a lamp. When I turn to take the lit cigarette from your fingers, my reaching leaves a shadow imprint under your lids, where my face used to be.
The computer keys click-click until the letter is typed, and I re-read it to make sure it'll have the desired effect, but I'm clumsy with words, they bumble out of my fingers like too many keys clasped in my palm, instead of making you weep it will probably just give you gas.
When you leave, I swear I can't see, for a moment I am blind and I think the last image I will ever have is your head turned away, your chin jutting into the air. But then the darkness grows shadows and pinpricks of light, as if from far far away, some distant happiness is beckoning to me.
That is the promiseland, I keep moving towards it, reach out my hand to touch it, and wait.

Ghosts of Savannah

After our sophomore year at art school, M and I took a 2 week road trip to Florida. In the midst of a cranky day we found ourselves lost in the streets of Savannah, and were completely enchanted. We promised to one day go back.

Six years later, my first year of grad school over, M and D have a break from their busy schedules and on impulse we decide to return.



We arrive in lush, quiet Savannah under the cover of night. The air is heavy with history and the smell of magnolias and gardenias. Petals turn to perfumed mush underfoot. Parking the car by a large square with a statue in the middle, we walk through uneven brick streets to our bed and breakfast.

The woman behind the desk is grandmotherly, with a southern drawl and sweet smile. She greets us with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a tour of the house. She shows us the back porch where we will eat fancy breakfasts, and drink iced sweet-tea. "The property is an old carriage barn. They kept carriages downstairs and the upstairs were filled with haylofts. You have your own patio." She says, handing over the keys.

Exhausted from the 13 hour car ride but bolstered by cottage comfort, we go for a walk. Then we get lost in the sullen shade of trees and Spanish moss, panic silently until we find our way back. Streets dark, shadows heavy, there is a sneaking feeling of being followed I can't shake.


The next two days are a whirl: ambling down squares, smoking on park benches, going on house tours, a pub crawl where we can drink outside and listen to ghost stories: pirates and wenches, old brothels turned schools, plantation home mansions, grand cathedrals, antebellum houses, classical art and architecture.








People here are... nice. Like really nice. I find myself smiling and saying hi to just about everyone. My favorite part: they all have stories to tell. I follow their words and gestures until my head is filled up, until my own sad little tales begin to shed from my mind, like the magnolia petals we've been stepping on since we arrived.

-Kastoory

Pomp Obsessions - Spring Break

Stranded at my parents house with a sprained ankle during grad school spring break means that I have a lot of free time for obsessing. I spend most nights watching my Bangladeshi parents favorite reality tv show, Dance India Dance. And the verdict is... it's awesome. Not only does it force me to learn Hindi by listening and bugging my parents for translations, but the dancing in it is amazing... see for yourself. (It get's interesting at 1:20.)

You can watch Krishna and Radha dance here

They even had a good ole girls vs. boys dance off (:42 for this one)

You can watch the dance off here

And the last thing I'll bore you with is this pretty version of Half a Person that I just heard by Welcome Wagon. It made me think of spring break roadtrips with my seat reclined, eyes half-closed, smoke drifting out the windows and warm wind blowing through my hair. Sigh, a girl can dream.


-Kastoory