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A True Saint

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Haruki Murakami on the Weirdness of His Birthday as a Public Event

The last item on this list of public events was an announcement of the names of famous people whose birthday fell on January 12. And there among them was my own! “Novelist Haruki Murakami today celebrates his **th birthday,” the announcer said. I was only half listening, but, even so, at the sound of my own name I almost knocked over the hot kettle. “Whoa!” I cried aloud and looked around the room in disbelief. “So,” it occurred to me a few minutes later with a pang, “my birthday is not just for me any more. Now they list it as a public event.”
A public event?
Oh well, public event or not, at least at that moment some of the people throughout Japan – it was a nationwide broadcast – standing (or sitting) by their radios may have had at least some fleeting thought of me. “So, today is Haruki Murakami’s birthday, eh?” Or, “Oh, wow, Haruki Murakami’s ** years old, now too!” Or, “Hey, whaddya know, even guys like Haruki Murakami have birthdays!” In reality, though, how many people in Japan could have been up at this ridiculous pre-dawn hour listening to the radio news? Twenty or thirty thousand? And how many of those would know my name? Two or three thousand? I had absolutely no idea._extract from blog.longreads.com

Haruki Mukarami,  A leaving Legacy

” One of the side effects of the saints is that they can make the rest of us feel crummy, or even annoyed “_in Good Prose, Kidder Tracy

Also,” The list was  clearly jocular. But I had the feeling he had said something important. I thought I got it…This view of drowned farmland…was a lens on the world…”–TR

I found such singular similarities in narrative  about Saints, in reading the essay of Mr. Haruki Mukarami, and the book” Mountains beyond mountains of Kidder Tracy.

“ln any case, he seemed to think I knew exactly what he meant, and I realized, with some irritation, that I didn’t dare say anything just then, for fear of disappointing him.” So, I am in this situation as he was, save that I’m one a reader of  Haruki Mukarami

The list that Mr. Haruki Murakami is of other register of different events related to each epoch and people, but its finality is in rapport to celebrating an anniversary or a birthday of a celebrity among others names born on the same day. ” On this day is born…”

I guess, what pleased him the most is to open a “Jack London ” bottle of wine in his honor and to say: ” cheers, Mr. Haruki, and happy birthday to you

  • Kalimelo

A writer! Yeah, right..!|Make me smile

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Make me smile

A writer!

 

What? A Writer!…

 

Yeah, right!

You kidding me, yeah right!

 

“Yeah, right! Make me smile!”

When I feel like  I’m blah, or sometimes I have a lack of inspiration, I go to see my friend Bob The cat, at the alley cats next door. He comes always at a certain time of the day to the entry of my building, I usually find him at the threshold of the door,  early in the morning on my way to work or in late afternoon, at five when back home. So we said hi and often I asked him what’s   the weather today, and or the news of the neighborhood, according of the moment. This day, as he didn’t come, so I swung by the alley cat for a small talk, he left his friends just as he saw me and came to meet me half-way. After purrs and hi, I told him that I envisage to become a writer; so now you know the answer.

Ps: Morality; we only have the muse that we can afford.

for the weather forecast, see below

No snow today

No snow today

 

 

Another Place, Another Time

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We only exist, by the moment we live when we are conscientious of it, in the now. Cogito ergo sum. We think, therefore we exist. At anytime of our existence, there is a turning point, a hinged door that opens, and swings between the tow instances, the very last pasting moment, and the next immediate future one; we sit in between, as we breath, we first exhale, than inhale. In Zen Buddhism meditation they call it zazen. That is, an unconscious movement, that performs behind the scenes, while we’re occupied doing things, in our hand, walking, eating, or whatever else. And here resides the secret of what the golden years that had left in our memory are made of for remembrance; the  satisfactory of their accomplishments, and the pleasure we have in indulging that moment.

Biss’mil’Allhi; It had been a long road since then, we strive along the path to get in there we are now; the road not taken, the falls and up-and-downs, then getting back on track._ Alhamdoulallahi

Tranquil Thoughts|http://alisonanddon.wordpress.com/

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Just as I woke up this  morning, I picked a glance outside and shuddered at the sole thought to this image below

Snow fall on Brooklyn

then  when I open the emails, I got :

“What’s the difference between these two blogs?”- Add Variety with Post formats, please compare by clicking on the link below, you’ll be nicely surprise!

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/

Then  when I saw both the blogs, Adventure in wonderland, instantly I re-blogged it,  sometimes inspiration strikes before you read more, as flurries, and thoughts last only a time as a fleeting wisp.

As It occurs  here in New York, “On these high-latitudes…. ” more often, that it snow  on each other day, so as the Presidents’ days weekend heading up, O My sweet Valentine, we only had to curl up, with a book to read, some wine to indulge and look as these following Blog Photos, thanks to:

http://alisonanddon.wordpress.com/

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One morning this little dude came to my window still, http://wp.me/s49jNN-2

A Lone writer|snapshot-stories

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The Lone Writer

Taking the slow road, and The Road less traveled

Memory-on-the-menu:

Memories, Speaks_Vladimir Nabokov

_Chalk, Ardoise*, Violet Ink, Fountain Pens, Pencils, stained fingers, Falaqat*, and the like…

 * a flagellation on the sole of my feet! with a long, and thin stick crop from a limb of an olive-tree,  wich I still remember till to today.
_a quick mnemonic method of no harm, used a longtime  ago, by a Taleb, a teacher of sort, for teaching kids the Koran, in Algiers of old. Usually the momentarily little burning on the little soles, it passed  a little while after it was flicked, but the learning of the Koran by rote will last forever. Similarly  to that a method, in Zen Buddhism teachings_  Bashõ, the Zen Master used ago his stick to strike a naïve monk, for  to let him remember his scriptures, it is called Satori. See Zen in Japanese Culture_Suzuki
"The more I read, the more I am itching with words for writing, " 
_G. Flaubert
“You must learn some of my philosophy. Think of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” _Jane Austen

Then, it was unthinkable for me, of such thing to be on affair with writing; a would be-writer, some forty years ago. Because, it was an affair.

Ardoise 
 noun ar·doise \ärˈdwäz\
  : A slate, a stone cut, of a grayish purple that is stronger than 
telegraph blue, bluer and deeper than mauve gray, and bluer 
and paler than average rose mauve, used for handwriting with a piece 
of chalk, for initiating children in Pre-k,in those golden years

The first time when I started doodling Arabic calligraphy with a piece chalk on a slate; it didn’t occur to me then, nor having the slightest thought to be one day a writer,  rather I was in awe before the white chalk handwritings on a blackboard, that I rewrote meticulously on my slate tablet, at first, then on a double-ruled lines handbook, later on, like any other kid on my age, a longtime ago, at the madrassa of the small village, where I spent the precious years of my childhood.

but wait, there’s More-!>

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