Morning, I swam the swimming pool and sipped coffee with Ms Jane Thorn. Together, Ms Thorn and I planned away the morning trying to turn talk into action – instant ways to implement Red Room’s education program, having been distressingly unsuccessful with both Arts NSW and CAL. If it wasn’t for the generous support of the Keir Foundation I (and maybe the rest of the board) would have spent Easter Sunday dressed as a Bunnies, handing out pamphlets for an Oxford Street Club Bunny Party, in order to raise coins for poetry.
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Chilli popcorn and chai in a polluted courtyard are two memories from my movie going in India.) where I was, a dozed days ago, being chaperoned by a cordial family. (‘cordial’, when Bengalis use it, means warm-hearted, trustworthy and kind). My Indian friends and I joined hands to view the sensationalist, controversial, jewel full, Jodhaa Akbar. Regardless of this Hindi film’s supposed historical inaccuracy, I blessed it 4 stars, because of lustful belly button wriggles and memorable elephant wrestling scene starring scrumptious jade eyed, musculus pectoralis major : Hrithik Roshan.
In India it was dry season.
Today, in Australia, it’s leaf and rain scatter season.
Tonight I dawdled to the movies with my boyfriend to watch Brick Lane. I devoured a double bulb kiwi fruit (externally lumpy and tumorous, with a heart of fluorescent lime internally) and overpriced water. The film began poorly, with embarrassingly clichéd scenes of pretty children running in carefree hysteria, fingers through blades of dew blessed grass and hair tangled in flower blossom spary. Yet, when story reached London’s markets and explored sewing as a way to speak, the film became a fair adaptation of Monica Ali’s penetrating novel.
Midway into the film there was a dinner scene – my eyes scanned the fictional spread for hints of Bengali potatoes or sweets, so much so, I missed the reciting of a Tagore poem.
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The day bends to sleep with my religious instruction from supposedly, the first Western autobiogrophy – St Augustine’s, Confessions of a Sinner; (perfected in print via the Penguin Books ‘Great Ideas’ series). So, on the night that once upon a time Jesus rolled back stones and rose into angels feathers .. and on the night before I journey to Sydney’s Royal Easter Show, I find it interesting to poke about St Augustine and read him out of context, he tells me: ‘..I had no liking for the safe path, for it was without pitfalls€¦’ (book 111)
