Sagittarius Horoscope for week of October 9, 2008 by Rob Brezsny
A certain connection you've been wishing for and fantasizing about will soon become available -- if, that is, you shed your expectations about how it will come about, and if you shed your ideas about what will happen after the two of you get together, and if you shed all hope of controlling that person's feelings about you. In other words, Sagittarius, you can finally have the alliance you want, but only if you no longer want it in the way you've wanted it.
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The acids on the hands (along with IgA) seemed to have changed the teal paper.
Freedom within the law. There is something always left over to plant into poetry. Archeology is glorified gardening and chemistry is glorified cooking?
Fixed forms are great scaffolds for images, and I think Elizabeth Bishop's "Sestina" uses the moon phases in the Farmer's Almanac. The second poem uses "bitumen" so I like it.
SESTINA
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
...
NIGHT CITY
(From the plane)
No foot could endure it,
shoes are too thin.
Broken glass, broken bottles,
heaps of them burn.
Over those fires
no one could walk:
those flaring acids
and variegated bloods.
The city burns tears.
A gathered lake
of aquamarine
begins to smoke.
The city burns guilt.
-- For guilt-disposal
the central heat
must be this intense.
Diaphanous lymph,
bright turgid blood,
spatter outward
in clots of gold
to where run, molten,
in the dark environs
green and luminous
silicate rivers.
A pool of bitumen
one tycoon
wept by himself,
a blackened moon.
Another cried
a skyscraper up.
Look! Incandescent,
its wires drip.
The conflagration
fights for air
in a dread vacuum.
The sky is dead.
(Still, there are creatures,
careful ones, overhead.
They set down their feet, they walk
green, red; green, red.)
I wasn't happy with that answer years ago either. My reformulation is that my work and leisure chimeras are relevant to me and my development; I am as weary of trying to give the impression of learning as I have ever been.
I have to reactivate my drawing muscles; I cannot cite stress as a reason for their underuse. Regular work is a prescription for this.
https://1drv.ms/i/s!AsA4BY25Ql_1m3P2I6iEclquqWeI?e=yJYqXb
Jane Miller's Birth of a Foal (1978). Reproduced for educational purposes only.
https://www.artnet.com/galleries/ricco-maresca/dubuffet-and-the-art-brut#:~:text=%E2%80%9CArt%20doesn't%20go%20to,'homme%20du%20commun...
I am taking the days and nights of Shavuot for an Exercise entitled Exercise No. [Blank] Le feu noir sur le feu blanc.
Horse or סוּס
https://www.google.com/books/edition/Red_Pony/hxIgAAAAIAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&bsq=The%20Red%20Pony%20Steinbeck%20%22Here's%20your%20colt%20I%20promised.%22&dq=The%20Red%20Pony%20Steinbeck%20%22Here's%20your%20colt%20I%20promised.%22&printsec=frontcover
This morning, I looked at a framed picture in the house where I reside that I thought was fabricated by someone else. I left all the pictures up and most things in place when they died, so much has not changed since the twentieth century.
I saw my name there. I made that?
I remember being there as a child, and I could only watch public television. I would watch this every weekday after being picked up from preschool at noon.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=tWoInh2USOs&pp=ygUNYm9iIHJvc3MgYmFybg%3D%3D
I saw the signature signed in my name in cursive. So it must be true?
I am in this situation because I had a contact to fix my vehicle who fell through this morning.
Three things I found this morning after realizing that I must persist with the Exercises and the writing, if getting up extra early on workdays to work forty minutes before the routine:
1. Kobo Abe's The Face of Another (1964), which is a two-way conversation between a couple in monotone notebooks. To read.
2. Teddy Thompson's Separate Ways (2026)
3. Piecework's Lemonade, which I will do to catch up on my lectures today. No creative work.
https://www.puzzledly.com/products/lemonade-1-000-piece-jigsaw-puzzle?tw_source=google&tw_adid=&tw_campaign=16530945504&tw_kwdid=&gad_source=1&gad_campaignid=16542930203&gbraid=0AAAAACdv6az1vyJ9QLrgAGco-rOGTDzW5&gclid=CjwKCAjw14zPBhAuEiwAP3-Eb4sCMcWdvaUHx4YKSd-qTq0aWs36M7GpnDheYJjgFprzanObmPa5WhoCiFAQAvD_BwE
https://www.yutorah.org/sidebar/lecturedata/1172882/The-Cost-of-Words:-Sefirah,-Rabbi-Akiva%E2%80%99s-Students,-and-the-Power-of-Silence
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