Saturday, January 29, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The still undanced cadence of vanishing
5
If one day it happens
you find yourself with someone you love
in a café at one end
of the Pont Mirabeau, at the zinc bar
where white wine stands in upward opening glasses,
and if you commit then, as we did, the error
of thinking,
one day all this will only be memory,
learn,
as you stand
at this end of the bridge which arcs,
from love, you think, into enduring love,
learn to reach deeper
into the sorrows
to come – to touch
the almost imaginary bones
under the face, to hear under the laughter
the wind crying across the black stones. Kiss
the mouth
which tells you, here,
here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones.
The still undanced cadence of vanishing.
from: Little Sleep’s-Head Sprouting Hair In The Moonlight
Galway Kinnell via booksvscigarettes
image:linkWednesday, January 26, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
"It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!"
`Then you shouldn't talk,' said the Hatter.
"Rep. Michele Bachman (R-Minn.), who now leads the tea party caucus in the House..."
"The outspoken Minnesota Republican and Tea Party favorite has been tapped by House Speaker John Boehner for a coveted slot on the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, giving her a new role as overseer of the CIA, the National Security Agency and the rest of the U.S. intelligence community.
'[...]the real issue about Bachmann is "will she able to keep quiet" about everything she gets briefed on in the committee, almost all of which will be classified information."
Had to re-post. Been on my mind.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Space reaches from us and translates the world
What birds plunge through is not the intimate space
in which you see all forms intensified.
(Out in the Open, you would be denied
your self, would disappear into that vastness.
Space reaches from us and translates the world:
to know a tree, in its true element,
throw inner space around it, from that pure
abundance in you. Surround it with restraint.
It has no limits. Not till it is held
in your renouncing is it truly there.
in which you see all forms intensified.
(Out in the Open, you would be denied
your self, would disappear into that vastness.
Space reaches from us and translates the world:
to know a tree, in its true element,
throw inner space around it, from that pure
abundance in you. Surround it with restraint.
It has no limits. Not till it is held
in your renouncing is it truly there.
image :here
text: Rilke via booksvscigarettes
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
MLK: excerpts for today
This I believe to be the privilege and the burden of all of us who deem ourselves bound by allegiances and loyalties which are broader and deeper than nationalism and which go beyond our nation's self-defined goals and positions. We are called to speak for the weak, for the voiceless, for victims of our nation and for those it calls enemy, for no document from human hands can make these humans any less our brothers.
We can no longer afford to worship the god of hate or bow before the altar of retaliation. The oceans of history are made turbulent by the ever-rising tides of hate. History is cluttered with the wreckage of nations and individuals that pursued this self-defeating path of hate. As Arnold Toynbee says : "Love is the ultimate force that makes for the saving choice of life and good against the damning choice of death and evil. Therefore the first hope in our inventory must be the hope that love is going to have the last word."
We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked and dejected with a lost opportunity. The "tide in the affairs of men" does not remain at the flood; it ebbs. We may cry out desperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is deaf to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residue of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: "Too late." There is an invisible book of life that faithfully records our vigilance or our neglect. "The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on..." We still have a choice today; nonviolent coexistence or violent co-annihilation.
solutions: the secret life of bees
Brenda Palms Barber wasn’t always drawn to beekeeping. But her quest to find work for residents of Chicago’s economically disadvantaged North Lawndale neighborhood — where some 50 percent of adults have been in the criminal justice system — led her to start Sweet Beginnings, a transitional jobs program for formerly incarcerated individuals and others with significant barriers to employment...
read more :here
Friday, January 7, 2011
On the last page I would write
“If someone told me to write a book on morality, it would have a hundred pages and ninety-nine of them would be blank. On the last page I would write, “I recognize only one duty and that is to love.” And as far as everything else is concerned, I say no.”
— Albert Camus [mianoti:thanks to chiararizzolo]
Source: vogueweekend
via asosyalsosyalist
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
moving into the unknown
“There is a part of everything which is unexplored, because we are accustomed to using our eyes only in association with the memory of what people before us have thought of the thing we are looking at. Even the smallest thing has something in it which is unknown.”
László Moholy-Nagy : 7 A.M. (New Year’s Morning) (ca. 1930)
— | Gustave Flaubert (via invisiblestories) |
László Moholy-Nagy : 7 A.M. (New Year’s Morning) (ca. 1930)
invisible stories (via: uncertaintimes)
Saturday, January 1, 2011
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