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Welcome Back to the Heart of Texas…

30 Dec
courtesy of texasescapes.com

courtesy of texasescapes.com

 

I have been in Texas now for two weeks and it has been difficult, thrilling, sad, beautiful, nostalgic and awesome. The trip itself was very interesting, especially the part where I drove through West Texas. I’ve never been in that part of the state and at first I found the wide open spaces to be beautiful and peaceful. After about five hours of this, I started to feel this intense and bone-deep sense of fear and panic. There. Was. Nothing. Nothing but me, my very old truck with all of my earthly possessions, scrubby creosote-esque shrubs, blue sky and rocks. All I could think about was either serial killers or breaking down and someone eventually finding my bleached bones by the side of I-10. I was startled by how intense the fear and anxiety felt; my entire body was tense and actually broke out in a cold sweat for most of the drive, which ended up taking two days. I had to stop in Fort Stockton and sleep. My cell phone also apparently hated West Texas, as it freaked out and decided to erase all of my contacts and reload itself somewhere between El Paso and Fort Stockton. I ended up having to replace my phone completely as it never seemed to recover from West Texas. Of course, this means that I will absolutely have to take a road trip to West Texas in the near future  just to explore this entire phenomenon.

My life in Austin is also thus far totally free of Ashtanga. Not happy about that last part. My new living arrangement does not have my luscious yoga room, and while the house is adorable and in South Austin and my new roommate is phenomenal…I barely have room to put down my yoga mat and I find myself in a big old sulk about it. Sulking and writing run-on sentences liberally peppered with ellipses…arrrgh! There are several Mysore programs available in Austin, but all of the studio schedules have been erratic due to the holidays. I also got sick right after I moved here and no breathing = no Ashtanga. After NYE, I will go investigate a studio that has an afternoon Mysore program that happens to be right by my house. I am very resistant to the afternoon practice thing after nine months of early AM practice, but my new schedule at work is much earlier than my old one. No contempt prior to investigation! The important thing is to just fucking practice already.

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Leaving Las Vegas

7 Dec

In a surprise move, I am relocating to Austin, TX next week! Honestly, I have no idea how this happened. Definitely not my intention to leave Las Vegas and this all happened very suddenly. However, I am beyond thrilled to move back to Austin—it has always been my favorite place out of all of the places I’ve lived…la ciudad de mi corazon. And there’s a hell of a lot of Ashtanga and heavy metal in Austin! I found two Mysore programs already—the idea of actually being able to practice Mysore-style with a teacher is so thrilling to me.

There’s something utterly wonderful about getting rid of almost everything I own and leaving with only what fits in the back of my truck. I’m calling it Operation Lose My Shit.

With that being said, it is tough to leave Las Vegas and my family and friends here. Although Vegas has sort of been a trial by fire for me, it is also the city of my heart in a strange way. This city has been part of my transformation: catalyst, midwife, swift kick in the ass. I love this dusty, glittery, ghost-filled mystery town. Las Vegas, you are beautiful–no matter what they say.

The Young and the Doomed

1 Jul

 

“After some exploration, they tracked down a rerun of The Young and the Doomed (1890) to a tiny theater that specialized in Painted Westerns (as those deserts of nonart used to be called). Thus had Mlle Lariviere’s Enfants Maudits (1887) finally degenerated! She had has two adolescents , in a French castle, poison their widowed mother who had seduced a young neighbor, the lover of one of her twins. The author had made many concessions to the freedom of the times, and the foul fancy of scriptwriters; both she and the leading lady disavowed the final result of multiple tamperings with the plot that had now become the story of a murder in Arizona, the victim being a widower about to marry an alcoholic prostitute, whom Marina, quite sensibly, refused to impersonate…the whole matter secretly nauseated Van…for him the written word existed only in its abstract purity, in its unrepeatable appeal to an equally ideal mind. It belonged solely to its creator and could not be spoken or enacted by a mime (as Ada insisted) without letting the deadly stab of another’s mind destroy the artist in the very lair of his art.” Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle, Vladimir Nabokov.

 

Dona Maria Barcelo, courtesy of pokerplayernewspaper.com

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