Reason's Spring

Persian Teardrop

I thought of that song by the same name today before I went here

Not a Single Swarm Theory

If you have happened to take notice of Daphne
How her handwriting mimes hellbine, where
The word stems safety pin swoops, and coifing
Into dewy focus—the pretenders at her knowledge

She thinks, how good of you, in a weekend layover
To discern the scrawl of these folios braced and broken
To broadcast yourself, and all the ants were streaming.

Etched in the blue-green murk—she dashed—again, wordy,
Again to the cover of bracken in a cloak of unimportance.
Resolved to be speechless, and if necessary, astringent.

First—you take my hands—as if they would manage
Body wires, and your scalp separates into hydra or a fire
Spitting sparks, your hair pulls away your sensuous nape
How heedlessly you might cut it off, if at a distance.

Gore Vidal on US media and society

American Psycho Shower Scene

Why I like this introduction, it is anybody's guess....

The Hunger (1983)

I like the Flower Duet for piano.

One in Munich (a month ago) and Sharon's Foto

Portishead- Hunter

No one said,
We'd ever know each other.
A new evidence, is what we require,
In this world.

I stand on the edge of a broken sky,
And I'm looking down, don't know why.

And if I should fall, would you hold me?
Would you pass me by?
Ooh, you know I'd ask you for nothing,
Just to wait for a while.

So confused,
My thoughts are taken over.
Unwanted horizons face me instead,
Won't let go.

I stand on the edge of a broken sky,
And I'm looking down, don't know why.

And if I should fall, would you hold me?
Would you pass me by?
Ooh, you know I'd ask you for nothing,
Just to wait for a while.

That somewhere we all talk about...

Just Keep Walking...

...a faint line, a semblance of stability. I secretly admire James Merrill for Ouija board transcripts.

The Pyroxenes

Well, life has touched me, too.
No longer infant jade,

What is the soul not made

To drink in, to go through

As it becomes a self!
Admire this forest scene,

Dendritic, evergreen,

On Leto's back-lit shelf--

"Forest" that long predates

The kingdom of the trees.
Move on a step to these

Translucent spinach plates

Morbidly thin, which flake

On flake corundum-red

As weeping eyes embed.

You'd think poorhouse and wake,

Fury, bereavement, grief

Dwelt at Creation's core,

Maternal protoplast,
Millions of years before

Coming to high relief

Among us city folk.
Out of her woods at last

On the Third Day we woke

From cradles deep in mire

At white heat: elements-

To-be of hard, scarred sense,

Strangers to fire.

Marga Gomez: Christmas with Cochina

I received a call from Valerie, my Latina roommmate. Ha, I can imagine her raising her now two-year-old daughter like this.

I had a black scarf like this, gifted from a flamenco dancer.