Things that Fascinate
“It’s beautiful the way the water drops hang so thick and dripping on the garden plants after a night of rain in the ninth month, when the morning sun shines fresh and dazzling on them. Where the rain clings in the spider webs that hang in the open weave of a screening fence or draped on the eaves, it forms most moving and beautiful strings of white pearly drops. I also love the way, when the sun has risen higher, the bush clover, all bowed down beneath the weight of the drops, will shed its dew, and a branch will suddenly spring up though no hand has touched it. And I also find it fascinating that things like this can utterly fail to delight others
(The Pillow Book, excerpt 124).”
Flowers that grow on buildings, the unique manner in which a seed can germinate in the pitted surface of brick or limestone. It’s almost a textile art. The way the roots fasten troves of flowers there. A veil of camelina, perfuming the air, adding a touch of life to a building, or, rather, taking the life from it – these unbridled roots will seep deeper into the walls until they crumble.
Straying feet erode the ground, marking the deviation of foot traffic from a main path. Desire paths, they’re called. Or sometimes elephant paths. Pirate paths, use trails, bootleg trails – but never blood vessel trails, although they can be likened to such a thing. The desire path branches out like little capillaries, crisscrossing through the grass, a manifestation of human will trampled against the natural environment. And, just as capillary connects vein to artery, the desire path connects traveler to traveler as they follow the same illicit trail to their shared destination.
To look up to the sky. To assess the clouds. To perceive what may be imperceivable to others at first. Because most everyone can pick a unique shape out from the same stretch of clouds – whether thin, puffy, streaked, or pinpoint. A bird, heart, even a benevolent face can take form. When someone points out the shape they see to you, maybe you don’t notice at first. Maybe you squint or turn your head. Narrow and then widen your scope. But as your companion insists upon the shape, it seems to take form instantaneously. I wonder if you would have ever noticed that fluffy cloud cat on your own.
Horseshoe crabs. They aren’t really crabs at all. Along the seashell infested shores of Rhode Island beaches, I’ve stumbled across their discarded shells, larger than the sum of my palms cupped together. I’ve heard that horseshoe crabs are blue-blooded. It feels more appropriate, though, to say that they’re blue-ichored – us humans have elevated their blood to the status of a god in the way that we seek it. The way we value its ability to test vaccines and other such injections for contaminates. I’ve donated blood myself many times. Six, to be exact. None of those were marked by my passing out, throwing up, nothing of that sort, just hot flashes that crept up on me suddenly. I wonder what side effects the horseshoe crabs experience during their donation, although I don’t know if it can be classified as such if the participant never gave its consent.
There’s something to be said about venturing into a storm with a clear umbrella. It doesn’t matter if it’s a light, airy summer storm or a cold wintery rush. The transparent canopy of the umbrella, almost akin to a supported window pane, will shield you nonetheless. Shield you from the sensation of the rain, that is. But not from the sight. You can still look up. Still see the little droplets splattering against the surface as you walk through the storm. After all, a clear umbrella provides a protected view, a portable little bubble.
Picnics
“Infuriating things — Thinking of one or two changes in the wording after you’ve sent a message to someone, or written and sent off a reply to someone’s message. Having hurriedly sewn something, you’re rather pleased with how nicely you’ve done it — but then when you come to pull out the needle, you find that you forgot to knot the thread when you began. It’s also infuriating to discover you’ve sewn something inside out
(The Pillow Book, excerpt 90).”
A red checkered blanket. Or a pink one. Yellow? Blue? As long as it’s checkered. There’s some whicker basket of sorts with peach jam inside. Or grape, strawberry, blueberry. As long as it’s jam. There’s probably sandwiches cut into neat triangles. With the crust cut off, of course. Maybe there’s a tumbler of hot cocoa (because I don’t care for tea and coffee is gross too). All these things are vague in that their exact shape, color, and flavor isn’t certain, but there’s one thing that is – every picnic is a picnic for ants, whether they were an invited guest or not.
Cats
“Cats should be completely black except for the belly, which should be very white
(The Pillow Book, excerpt 49).”
The ones that mimic crushed caramel DeLites. Their soft, fluffy black fur resembling the chocolate. Their intermittent splashes of honey orange are much like the caramel drizzle. Maybe there’s a patch or two of white, which may be similized to the glass of milk that accompanies such a cookie. This is the cutest kind of cat.
Winter
“In winter, the early morning — if snow is falling, of course, it’s unutterably delightful, but it’s perfect too if there’s a pure white frost, or even just when it’s very cold, and they hasten to build up the fires in the braziers and carry in fresh charcoal. But it’s unpleasant, as the day draws on and the air grows warmer, how the brazier fire dies down to white ash
(The Pillow Book, excerpt 1).”
The coldest of winter days always seem to be accompanied by the smell of wood smoke, which lingers in the air whether someone is burning wood or not. It lingers in your hair too. And your clothes. A pungent winter shroud that makes you feel like the personification of the season itself.
Good Insects (And Arachnids)
“The fly should have been included in my list of hateful things; for such an odious creature does not belong with ordinary insects
(The Pillow Book, excerpt 30).”
“In summer the nights. Not only when the moon shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how beautiful it is
(The Pillow Book, excerpt 1).”
Spiders who, whilst spinning their gossamer webs, become little seamstresses of nature. They do not need a compass, for they leave a trail of silk to make their way back to their homes.
Rosy maple moths, who have stepped straight out of an ‘80s movie.
Honey bees, who busy themselves performing the task befitting of their title. They’ve dripped out of Ra’s warm tear ducts and taken flight.
The orchid mantis, clad in a dress of petals tinged with bubblegum pink. They always smells of zinnia, peony, and hibiscus, among other such flowers, as they crouch there in wait of their prey.
Peppered moths, the epitome of natural selection, flitting between salt and pepper hues to blend in with lichen, and pure black to hide in a polluted environment.
Longing
“Things That Have Lost Their Power
A large boat which is high and dry in a creek at ebb-tide.
A woman who has taken off her false locks to comb the short hair that remains.
A large tree that has been blown down in a gale and lies on its side with its roots in the air(The Pillow Book, excerpt 80).”
I don’t feel it when I crank the handle of the old gumball machine next to the laundromat. It’s something I begin to notice only once I pop the little ball glazed with green sugar into my mouth and chew for a while. I savor the sweetness for as long as I can, feeling it caress my tongue, until I’m chewing flavorless rubber. The flavor never lasts long, it’s the yearning to taste it again that lasts longer. I put another quarter into the machine
Hello all! I really liked reading The Pillow Book this semester. It was something simple but really beautifully written and infused with personality. Anyway here’s a deep backstory no one asked for but I’m gonna share: keeping diaries when I was younger was probably what led me to become an English major. I was encouraged to write a lot in one and really enjoyed doing so. I still have my diaries from 2006 actually (they’re funny to read now because it’s all some of the dumbest stuff.) A pillow book is a private diary and I really enjoyed the Pillow Book so I figured, why not return to my roots and make some entries about my thoughts on various things. No regrets here, it was so fun to have this kind of freedom.
I read through every excerpt of the Pillow Book that I could find and whenever one gave me an idea, even the littlest hint of one or some random offshoot of a thought, I jotted down the quote to return to it. Got six entries from doing this. I’ll start with the first one.
“Things that Fascinate” is an entry about… facts/things that I found fascinating. Doesn’t get much deeper than that. I choose my favorite excerpt from the Pillow Book to start off the entry with, mainly because of this last line: And I also find it fascinating that things like this can utterly fail to delight others. This entry is basically that for me. I took a nice scroll of procrastination through tumblr while brainstorming for this list and I realized that, damn, it actually gave me some ideas (desire paths, horseshoe crabs, also I saw a picture of a cloud and rolled with that.) Flowers that grow on buildings are something I love to see in general. Clear umbrellas are cool to me because you can still see the stormy sky above you while carrying one. I donated blood the day before writing the bit about horseshoe crabs so that was an easy tie in. Etc.
“Picnics” was inspired by Shonagon’s list of infuriating things. Picnics are cool and all but it’s the ants that bug me. I really can’t stand ants, and I feel like a picnic is an invitation for them to appear.
“Cats” is my reply to what Shonagon’s own description of the perfect cat is. Essentially, my favorite girl scout cookie is caramel delites, and my favorite cat is a tortoiseshell/calico cat. I always thought those two things look pretty similar, so I likened them to each other while describing what the perfect cat is to me. Then I realized I was describing my own cat, Cucumber. Click this to see her loafing in a chair while she people watches from the third floor balcony.
“Winter” was just me reading Shonagon’s excerpt about the best time of day in each season, and then me picking the best trait of winter since we’re experiencing it right now more or less. I really don’t like winter as a season but I do like smelling random wood smoke in the air because that’s always the official sign for me that winter has started.
“Good Insects (And Arachnids)”. There were a couple quotes about bugs in the Pillow Book, but mainly I just like insects and am probably an entomologist in an alternate universe. This entry is just a list of the ones I like best (And spiders because I guess they’re not technically an insect?) and some details/facts of why I like them. (Peppered moths were really cool to learn about in psychology class.)
As a bonus, “Longing”. I read Shonagon’s list of things that have lost their power and thought of this piece I did last year about longing. At the time of writing it, I focused on the flavor of gumballs and how it always fades fast and leaves you longing for the flavor to come back. I feel like a gumball without any flavor left is a thing that has lost its power as well so I snuck this into the project.
Overall, fun project! I don’t think my entries are extraordinary or anything, but it’s stuff that relates to my thoughts/feelings nonetheless. That’s why I think literature matters, by the way. It’s a great outlet for feelings and such. Even if you can’t sort out what you’re feeling, you can write and maybe things will be pieced together and maybe not. But you do get to express yourself and it can be quite cathartic.
Sprockets and Springes 
These are wonderful, you’re seriously such a skilled writer!! I admire your work :^) Especially you use of metaphors. These are really neat reflective little pieces, great job!