i like calendars opened to April, an essay on cliteracy
This room has a great wealth of walls. And the reason for this is: In Japan there is a great wealth of calendars.
The clock on the shelf on the other side of the door is analogue. It has bendy arms that are hard to read and a floral pattern that doesn't help you tell the time. I have to choose to read it. And even when I read it I can't really know just what time it is, I only set it approximately. At that time I thought it was about 9...
I like the first of the month because sometimes the calendar hasn't caught up yet and for a brief moment I can approximate my recovery. I can think, is it really?
I like calendars in April. I like calendars turned to April. It's a good month. Month of promises. Month of poetry. An awkward month. The first round month of the year. The month of 30 days when we can sort of come in out of the cold. When we dress too warmly and have to tie bulky sweaters around our hips. As we walk. Or when we go to restaurants with gloves and toques and the waiter wants us to take the menu but our hands are full with clothes we don't want to wear but brought because it might be cold. because it is April. There are 30 days of this.
April is a month that invites you to picnics, but the weather is terrible. April is a month that takes you to a cafe for cocoa, but there is no whipped cream. it's a month where movies always have Leonardo Dicaprio. A month when the strawberries are expensive, and smell nice but taste sour. It's a month of taxes and funerals and if you aren't going to make it, April is the month that will break you. It is a month of fire in flowers and muddy clothes and romping and dry skin. It's a month awkwardly off, you can only laugh in April. And laugh again. It's April. Proportioned like a trombone player.
And better yet is when the calendar says April. Because you can catch it in your eye and think, "oh god, not again...not April. It's so, I can't..." and then you realize, no, it's May. I haven't changed the calendar. And laugh. With relief. And make plans to go to the park with a friend.
I am a recovering woman. As you can see. No clocks. No watches. There is something about seeing numbers. Even the clock on my computer screen wisely hides itself when I am not looking for the time, and even then it tells me the wrong time. Because there is something about numbers.　Something about recovering as a woman and seeing numbers that...just... I don't like calendars. I don't need to know exactly when it is. It is now. Isn't is? You know. I don't need to know exactly.
But in Japan, the calendars never say April. Except in April.
The clock on the shelf on the other side of the door is analogue. It has bendy arms that are hard to read and a floral pattern that doesn't help you tell the time. I have to choose to read it. And even when I read it I can't really know just what time it is, I only set it approximately. At that time I thought it was about 9...
I like the first of the month because sometimes the calendar hasn't caught up yet and for a brief moment I can approximate my recovery. I can think, is it really?
I like calendars in April. I like calendars turned to April. It's a good month. Month of promises. Month of poetry. An awkward month. The first round month of the year. The month of 30 days when we can sort of come in out of the cold. When we dress too warmly and have to tie bulky sweaters around our hips. As we walk. Or when we go to restaurants with gloves and toques and the waiter wants us to take the menu but our hands are full with clothes we don't want to wear but brought because it might be cold. because it is April. There are 30 days of this.
April is a month that invites you to picnics, but the weather is terrible. April is a month that takes you to a cafe for cocoa, but there is no whipped cream. it's a month where movies always have Leonardo Dicaprio. A month when the strawberries are expensive, and smell nice but taste sour. It's a month of taxes and funerals and if you aren't going to make it, April is the month that will break you. It is a month of fire in flowers and muddy clothes and romping and dry skin. It's a month awkwardly off, you can only laugh in April. And laugh again. It's April. Proportioned like a trombone player.
And better yet is when the calendar says April. Because you can catch it in your eye and think, "oh god, not again...not April. It's so, I can't..." and then you realize, no, it's May. I haven't changed the calendar. And laugh. With relief. And make plans to go to the park with a friend.
I am a recovering woman. As you can see. No clocks. No watches. There is something about seeing numbers. Even the clock on my computer screen wisely hides itself when I am not looking for the time, and even then it tells me the wrong time. Because there is something about numbers.　Something about recovering as a woman and seeing numbers that...just... I don't like calendars. I don't need to know exactly when it is. It is now. Isn't is? You know. I don't need to know exactly.
But in Japan, the calendars never say April. Except in April.
posted by FireflyEyes at 5:09 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home