Brief Escape

Dear friends I have seen from the streaked kitchen window almost every noontime.

This was taken after the rain on the parkway.

An Open Letter

Dear Exhaustion,

Someone once remarked during a particularly prolific phase that my muse must be lounging, leaving her nail clippings in my plants, but I always knew it was you...lurking in doorways with a satisfied smirk on your face. I've waited all month for you to assail me at my desk as I slumped listlessly cracking the spines of various books, and then taking naps and awaking even more crinkled and unrecorded than before. I've heard you slamming the screen door at odd hours or pulling the springs in the window sash. I did wonder where you ran off to, but knowing we are not supposed to even know each other, I curtailed my questioning.

What are the consequences of excessive wakefulness? Incalculable, infirm of purpose, so I slept to seize the heart of things. Straining to hear, I could not pay attention until I sensed that you were here. Exhaustion, you lean in obtuse angles for merely a pair of hands, my hands, to let. Helplessly, I prepare with a morning constitutional, a pile of vitamins, ablution along with any other rituals I should have discarded long ago. I am prone, leaving the door unlocked, ajar.

Now I can fill in the darkness beyond the waxy daffodils, diagram the decussation of pyramids, but I won't push it beyond tomorrow afternoon...Then, you can be on your way, and I, will go about collecting a new pile of things for you to parcel and perfect.

Tired, but happy,
-J

Fragments from Five-Plus Years

The limits of my language are the limits of my mind. -Ludwig Wittgenstein

Wait for life to come... Arcadia

"April is the cruelest month..."

J interacts with the symbols of the Tarot for their descriptive, not prescriptive power.

J knows that if you set a horse out to glut himself on lush pastures at this time of year, he could founder.

J witnesses the mismanagement of a dying cancer patient: the markers were lost, and consequently the radiation was applied proximally to wherever.
J smiles in the knowledge that her heart is fogging up a sealed jar somewhere on a proverbial shelf.
J prefers raw talk, but cannot withstand it long...a form of metaphysical cannibalism, she thinks.
J finally drew the dermatomes, now what?
Indoors, J hears the compulsive accountant next door, who hits a tennis ball as consistently as a metronome against his garage wall.

J listened to Jeff Buckley's cover of "Lilac Wine" as she mused that domestication is an aim at purposeful living.

Subjugate and Subsource

"She considered the sequined tops of her hosiery like her additions to microscopy."

"Love map 14,821: aerial view of a billabong, crossover for all of Western Australia's wild parakeet population"

"Great is the capacity for transparent things and the one who can see a garland of stars in his ginger ale."

"The grin and stare of serving the few is always favored over the blank exaggeration of the many."

"Fiber bundles for extra support. If I recall, you mentioned John Money, but I cannot say that I share  the infamous concept of vandalized lovemaps, with or without regard to slides of plants."

Captions and Cuttings I'd Like to Meet Continued

"Having Fallen, She Decided That There was Nothing to Do But Stare at the Tiffany Electrolier"

"I'll to My Perch Return, said the Feathered Serpent, Queztalcoatl"

"In Another Decade, Mrs. Dalloway said, "I'll Make the Frittata Myself"

"The Above is Aware of the Amplexus Below"

"Found in The Christian Science Monitior: The Beaded Collar to Tutankhamun--The Next Issue is Your Last!"

"As the Waves Lapped Around Her Legs, Caressing the Bull's Flanks, Europa Could Only Detect the Horns of the Complicity."

"Carrying Me to The Gullet...to Kiss or Kill?"

"...And Traded Love's Bright and Fragile Wings for the Glitter and the Rouge"

Captions and Cuttings I'd Like to Meet

When I look at photographs, especially of the glassy panes of plants, I like to ascribe titles to them...a lot of these could be bookbinding panels. Try your hand at a title. There are no wrong answers, only revelations.

"Brushing Her Tongue Across Her Face...Because Her Glass Was Empty"













"Lesson in Survival: Wound-licking with Molded Wax Lips"













"Mannerist Missive in Bronzino's Breast Pocket"











"It Comes to a Head: the Virile Quiet, the Release, and Quick, the Läkerol Lemon-mint Pastilles"
















"An Infrequent Blusher at Standard Temperature and Pressure"












"Calendar Girl and the Drain's Eye View of Her Shampoo"



This Evening's Transcript:
J took a long look at paper, toile-printed cocktail napkins.
J alterates in her opinions of Milan Kundera: either that he wallows in irresolution or that he peels away the wispy underlayer after underlayer of life's meaning.
J plays Tricky's "Song for Yukiko" for this evening's study session.
J is aware that in a moment of haste, she forgot to hyphenate "ever-present" in her sentence.
J noticed the t-shirt of an acquaintance, declaring, "Metamorphosis." Momentarily thrilled by the mention of Ovid or Kafka, she was mistaken for an announcement of what Jesus can do for YOUR life.
J notices when she is around married people that they talk down their sleeves about their bliss.
J does not really want an interlocking vertebral model, since she was only reacting to the apparent difficulty of fitting all the facets together.
J lives for the sight of a rare bird, or at least a discarded egg fragment for her shadow box.