unintelligible and excited screaming

room service

Oct 07, 2023

this week’s Thought (singular)

i peeled and cut an apple into several small pieces. then i took a few chunks of walnut and mixed them in with the apple pieces. then i ate it all together. it was awesome.

a very warm welcome to all new readers. i love new readers so much that whenever i get an email about a new reader, i manifest that they always have spare AA batteries for the wall clock in their room. thank you for joining us. may you never have to frantically search every drawer in the house for the right batteries while your clock mockingly remains stuck on five hours ago.

awesome incredible weird news: this baby publication hit 100 subscribers last week?? which is so cool?? i love this newsletter so much and i am giving you all virtual hugs and a piece of perfectly toasted bread + butter for graciously welcoming it into your inboxes on the mostly-regular. onward!

thodi has seen an incredible jump in subscribers over the last month (thank you for joining us, i hope you enjoy your stay here, etcetera), so i thought i’d share a few of my favourite editions from the time of inception. feel free to check out the archives as well!

why thodi?

jahnavi

October 15, 2022

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i am not too much

jahnavi

January 21, 2023

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you know what that is? growth.

March 11, 2023

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on being a container

jahnavi

March 25, 2023

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i’m deliberately not including any ~ content ~ this week, since this was mostly a thank you/welcome filler episode. rest assured, this is not for lack of having things to talk about. i’m super excited about everything i’ve got lined up for thodi, and i’m super excited to share them with you. thank you. welcome.

ps: happy october :D

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English Recitation Competition

Letter on Alladat, D. S. Marriott (full poem here)

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O these bonds packed with zeroes—harmony, grief, regrets. I’m done with memory. And every time I listen to your poetry, nausea becomes a river in me in which I swim naked, dispossessed.

The Star Dial, Willa Cather (full poem here)

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Ah! the cypress tops are sighing
   With the wind that brings the day;
There my last pale treasure dying
   Ebbs in jeweled light away;

Ebbs like water bright, untasted;
   Black the cypress, bright the sea;
Heav’n’s whole treasury lies wasted
   And the dawn burns over me.

The Blue Door, Ann Lauterbach (full poem here)

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Is writing a way of stalling for time,
to delay the tasks in the next room,
dishes and clothes, books and papers,
the pile of shoes on the floor, the floor,
the rugs, the drawer
chaotic with nails and hooks and small tools?
Poem is too busy to answer.
Words are like small magnets,
pulling other words toward them, one by one,
so the singles gather and as they gather
they attest to an alignment that will become
meaning. What was it you said about naming?
It makes a way between unbeing and being,
the definite flowing into the circulating infinite,
the blue door opening the night sky.

The Good Side of the Internet

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