Saw 2 Days in Paris last night. Highly recommended. Funny. Romantic. Cynical. All at the same time. Julie Deply is the Marilyn Monroe of the literati. Funny glasses and French. Like heaven.

"Barcolle" - Andrea Bocelli

Sigh. Before Sunrise. Before Sunset. And now, two days. Someone take me to Paris, already!

"Porgy and Bess" - Nina Simone 

This is the first weekend in more than five weeks that I have not (select one):
a) fallen ill
b) worked overtime
c) traveled far away from home

I'm amazed at the power of rest and relaxation. It's been just 36 hours since I last worried about work, and guess what? I feel great! Like new! I'm spinning like a dervish. ( Dervishes. Wikipedia tells me that the religion of the Whirling Dervishes sprung from followers of Rumi. Rumi! Imagine that.)

"Don't Explain" - Dexter Gordon 

My friend Mona is leaving DC for good next week. We've shared many happy (read: joyously intoxicated) times at her apartment. Each time Mona had friends over, she'd pour big goblets of red wine and pass around a well-thumbed-through copy of Hafiz's collected poetry. One-by-one, each visitor would close their eyes, slowly fan the pages with their fingers, and read aloud whichever poem they landed on. It was part fortune-telling, part poetry reading, and part seduction.

Spilled Speech

As everyone drifts off to sleep,
I am still staring at the stars.

Separation from you does have a cure.
There is a way inside the sealed room.

If you will not pour wine,
at least allow me half a mouthful
of leftover dregs.

Secretly I fill my sleeve with pearls.
When the love-police detain me,
let your moon come down
and hold me in its arms.

Officer, I know this man.
I will take him home.

Let my wandering end as the story does
 of the Kurd who loses his camel.
Then the full moon comes out,
and he finds what he lost.

These rocks and earth-forms
were originally sun-warmed water,
were they not?

Then the planet cooled
and settled to what we are now.

The blood in our bodies carries
a living luminous flow,
but watch when it spills out
 and soaks into the ground.

That is how speech does,
overflowing from silence.

Silk on one side,
cheap, striped canvas on the other.

- By Rumi, not Hafiz. Sorry. 

Goodbye, Mona. The city will be dreary without you. I suppose Rebecca and I will just have to fly to San Francisco for your annual Persian New Year party.

 "Cry" - 10cc