Friday, February 17, 2017


Love my frankenpens-fitted jinhao x450 with zebra G and jinhao 750 with Nikki G. Nikki G doesn't flex as beautifully as zebra G. X750 with Nikki was an extremely tough fit. Took me almost an hour with sore and red fingers but I was so happy when I finally got it fitted nicely after reading online that this is an almost impossible feat. But then I subsequently broke the nib by jamming it too hard into the cap. GAH!
The x450 although wonderful to write with at first begins to give in to  railroading, or leaking, or completely refusing to ink up. Sigh... but still, when it works it's a joy to write with.

Noodler's featherproof ink seems to jam up the pens, pelikan ink is completely shitty (so diluted!). So far, diamine ink seems to work best.

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Stumbled upon this piece again and I am not sure why it evokes images of riding a bicycle and the feeling of riding one. From a slow pedaling on a straight road to an exhilarating ride upslope, feeling the wind in your hair, before winding down a gentle slope towards home.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017


Sometimes the presence of someone is enough to make one happy. Is such happiness the purest? When that someone need not do anything special- no gravitations, no stimulation, no flowery words, no gifts of frankincense, myrrh, or gold. Just a presence was enough. But is such happiness sustainable? We always end up wanting something, expecting something.
These days relationships are "quid pro quo"-based- what can you give me, what can I give you, I did this for you, so I expect this from you. Cold, hard love.

There was something else I wanted to write about but it had fled from my memory... sigh... old age...

Was missing Lazarus this morning. Wishing I have time off to spend a morning there picnicking with a good book.

Finished haruki murakami's wind up bird chronicles, read portions of Paul Theroux 's tao of travel, and just started on Virginia Woolf's diary. Woolf wrote beautifully. I love her prose.
She wrote it in the "stream of consciousness" style as she herself claimed likewise. The pros of such writing is that it is totally uncensored and the cons is that it can seem like ramblings of nothing in significance. I like her thoughts, her observations; there's a certain sagaciousness in her writing. Shall leave my thoughts about the book for the actual book review.

Sister's cat died today and I teared while thinking about it. Should we not have nor love in order to escape pain? Sometimes that fear of losing overpowers us and we abandon the chance to love.

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Seven years in Tibet- Heinrich Harrer

Couldn't escape the snare of this book that I had to disrupt Long Walk to Freedom (sorry Nelson!) for it.
really enjoyed the book, especially at the beginning, when Harrer broke out of POW camp and started on his journey to Tibet from India. I remembered feeling my heart racing when he and Aufschnaiter(my god, the name!) ran into the Kampas (ruthless bandits of Tibet) and thankfully, outwitted them unharmed. Without a permit, Aufschnaiter and Harrer often had to travel in ungodly hours to avoid attention  and lie through their teeth to get from one city to another- their ultimate destination was Lhasa. I was truly amazed at how they could survive trekking through merciless terrain and weather, and at high altitude without proper equipment and clothing and with minimal food. When they got to Lhasa, the story fell into a lull, without much excitement but it was still entertaining enough to keep me going. Harrer eventually became a mentor to the young and curious Dalai lama who was eager to know more about the world outside of Tibet. After reading the book, I searched for the award winning movie and was duly disappointed. I didn't finish the film.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Solvitur ambulando- it is solved by walking- st Augustine
Lovers spawned
Lovers spurned.
You left me in a summer dream,
The cold rays of the sun,
Gave not a trace of warmth.
I watched the light dance across the poppy fields,
And I think to myself,
What a wonderful world,
Without you.
And then I wept.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

The weaver

The weaver of my dreams,
It is you who have trampled on all that had been precious.
The dreams that had once been sweet,
Are nothing but crumbling dust now.
To whom, does your heart belong?
One can no longer tell.
The shadows you cast,
The fabric of lies you weave.
Into a hopeless pool,
I fell,
Deeper and deeper
Till the point of no return.
Weaver of my dreams,
My weaver,
My reaper.