THE CITY

I tend to think that cities are not that much different from people. Which is probably why I feel hopelessly homeless at heart all of the time. You are in search of something - possibly a sense of relief, a place you feel you belong. It is not that nothing is good enough. It is just like people. You give it a try, and after awhile their flaws overshadow their qualities and you decide you've had enough. 

Cities have their own personalities after all, an inalterable convention that adapts to no one. It lives and breathes and sleeps even when you can't. It does not wait for you. It is like the most severe, uncompromising partner you could have. Most people who live in the cities they grew up in, or for most of their life, love their city. It is part of who they are, they say. In a way, I envy that sort of loyalty. It is like how you love a family member you can't simply walk away from forever. You can't bring yourself to leave them behind no matter how many times, and how badly they've let you down. Or a first love. No matter how imperfect and fault-ridden they are, or were, they remind you of what love is when you have trouble remembering years down a lonesome, loveless road.

I heard a man speaking about his first love once. He said, "She finished with me when I was 20 years old. I am fifty eight now. I still think about her."

We tend to remember what is real. Pain is very real. And it is a very large part of our memories, which is why we always look back on it. Why would we be too affected by what is or was false? Our emotions cannot be separated from what we remember most, especially if what we remember most is loss. Or suffering. It reminds us of how fragile we really are. Or also, I feel, it reminds us of how everything seemed more clear cut and simple when we were kids. Younger. Because we weren't really searching for the meaning of life. Or the meaning behind everything. It is both a comfort and a grievance when looking that far back.

I finish with people all of the time. Not because they are not good enough for me. But because their flaws and faults start to overshadow their qualities and I decide I can't bear anymore disappointment. It is akin to giving up on an unhealthy substance before it completely kills you. This in turn, is my biggest fault. My only comfort is that I had not been dismissive at the start.

I am like the city.

I am not inalterable, but I am severe and resolute.

TO BE, OR NOT TO BE?

Production of William Shakespeare's Hamlet by the Globe Theatre of London in downtown Boston, Friday night.

What Hamlet is contemplating is the comparison between the pain of life, which he sees as inevitable (the sea of troubles - the slings and arrows - the heartache - the thousand natural shocks) and the fear of the uncertainty of death and of possible damnation of suicide. 

Hamlet's dilemma is that although he is dissatisfied with life and lists its many torments, he is unsure what death may bring - the dread of something after death, fear of the unknown. He can't be sure what death has in store. It may be sleep but in perchance to dream he is speculating that it is perhaps an experience worse than life. 

"The undiscovered country from which no man returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others we know not of." 

In essence, life is bad, but death might be worse.

OLDER

Took Angelica out for a birthday dinner, and a cake afterwards. 

The cake was really a chocolate "pizza" which immediately made me say what when she wanted to order it. But she was happy, and it was her birthday.

VERSES

Things base and vile, holding no quantity,

Love can transpose to form and dignity.

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

Nor hath Love’s mind of any judgment taste—

Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.

And therefore is Love said to be a child,

Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,

So the boy Love is perjured everywhere.

One thing about taking a Shakespeare class is having to analyze passages of Early Modern English which occasionally has me stumped. The discovery of meaning in something that confuses you, like prose from the Elizabethen period is worthwhile. Especially when you realize how it is very much still applicable today. Suddenly you understand it completely. Love, humor, tragedy. Frustration, desperation, humiliation. 

After trying to translate English to English, that is.

We read one play a week and discuss it at length. This week it's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Above is one of my favorite passages from Act I.

Translation :

Love can make worthless things beautiful.
When we’re in love, we don’t see with our eyes but with our minds.
That’s why paintings of Cupid, the god of love, always show him as blind.
And love doesn’t have good judgment either - Cupid, has wings and no eyes,
so he’s bound to be reckless and hasty.
That’s why they say love is a child.
Because it makes such bad choices.
Just as boys like to play games by telling lies, Cupid breaks his promises all the time.