physics (af)fairs

I have fond memories associated with the State Fair. Five years ago, I walked all around the fair with my accelerometers and climbed on top of a haunted house to make eye-level measurements for Kolena's physics lab. Fair-goers looked at us with half suspicion and half amusement. Two years ago, I found myself at the fair with an unexpected date. As we had to weave through the crowds, I thought about holding his hand and blending in with the hundreds of other hand-holders there. I would never do such a thing of course, what silly thoughts. We shared a deep-fried twinkie and a slice of cheesecake on a stick together--standing there under the booth light as if we had always shared twinkies and cheesecakes. When we were waiting in line for the "ring of fire", he said things that could have possibly meant that we should keep on sharing those twinkies and cheesecake slices, bring them into the mountains, bring them into broadway shows. He was pretty suave for a physics major. The fireworks went off at 9:30pm, we were second in line for the ferris wheel. We were on the ferris wheel and the fireworks lit up the right side of our faces. I could feel the heat from the sparks, and my stomach was a little tight at high altitudes. We both pretended not to notice that his knee was slightly touching mine. The old couple across from us exclaimed how nothing like this had ever happened to them in their half a century of union. We soared above the fairgrounds. We soared and soared, he said a new decade was a decade for changes. We soared and soared, he said those sugar-coated apples on sticks were delicious. I ate mine and he ate his. We soared from this continent to that, my stomach was just a little queasy. When he was thousands of miles away, he said, just remember, one day we would be here again. I said, sounds good to me. And that was the end of this story.

brownie points for williams

If when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,--
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"

If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,--

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
-"Danse Russe", William Carlos Williams

love this poem!
Not that I identify with dancing nakedly in front of the mirror, but something about its ridiculousness strikes a chord in me. Wouldn't you like to be the happy genius of your household?

cords of harmony
deaf to my ear
useless conversations
empty words
music that I cannot understand

how foolish of me
to rant and plead
give in to that last teenage angst

I need no sympathy
for your life is lovely
flowers and gardens
starry nights
I dare not taint it

tomorrow the tears will vanish
I will never let you
be burdened with this sight

jeg hedder ikke nom

As I marched up South Road (the stretch where it is utterly treeless and shadeless) toward the bus stop, sweat crawled up my forehead and out of pores that I didn't even know existed. I couldn't help but miss those chilly evenings in Copenhagen. I missed walking down to the train station at nine o'clock in the morning when the Scandinavian sun was just making its first appearance. I missed walking back home in the dark, accompanied by a drizzle that dripped from the sky for days at a time. Even as I crossed the busiest intersections, I was only surrounded by people speaking in undecipherable tongues while I continued on in my own little world. How easy it was to be content with simple thoughts and desires. I counted how many minutes it was until the next train came, when I should go visit Netto again to stock up on dark chocolate, and hoped that my host family did not cook medium-rare steak again for dinner. I was in the country that I didn't dare dream of visiting when I lied in bed reading Andersen's tales as a child. Yet there I was, promenading down the streets of Denmark all alone. I never thought of myself as the type to look for escape, to seek solitude and quietness, but somehow I found comfort in this frigidly unfamiliar place.

Here I was, back in the gentle embrace of North Carolina. I have everything that I could have wanted, and they are all bearing down on me like the sun burning over my head. I have a strange need to throw it all away, to relieve myself. What an easy life would I have then, with no expectations, no obligations, no ties, and no love.