Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Trees are poems
Friday, April 22, 2011
Not till it is held in your renouncing
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.
(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.
Piero Roi. Ophelia, 2008
image:
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
I’m haunted by all the space
Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
top,
I’m haunted by all
the space that I
will live without
you.
Richard Brautigan, "Boo, Forever"
text: sharingpoetry:
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I knew them once
“I’ve forgotten the words with which to tell you. I knew them once, but I’ve forgotten them, and now I’m talking to you without them.”
— | Marguerite Duras, Emilie L. |
text: proustitute:
image: anhelos
I’m haunted by all the space
Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
top,
I’m haunted by all
the space that I
will live without
you.
Richard Brautigan, "Boo, Forever"
text: sharingpoetry:
Thursday, April 14, 2011
I can well understand why children love sand.
Epigraphs to David Markson’s Wittgenstein’s Mistress
text via the amazing: invisiblestories
image:here
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
our partial belief
I do not believe in ghosts unless I see them. I forget them. When I read, I need to find the necessary volume for the space. Books in quantity manifest our partial belief that nothing in the world passes away. Nothing has disappeared. We apprehend very little. Ghosts emerge in our peripheral vision. Today (meaningless) I could not see anybody.
from The Library Inferno, by Martin Corless-Smith
text here:∞image~ here(via booklover)
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
It is there
“ …All the same, without being morbid, and giving way to - to memories and so on, I must confess that there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don’t mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one’s breathing. However hard I work and tire myself I have only to stop to know it is there, waiting. I often wonder if everybody feels the same. One can never know. But isn’t it extraordinary that under his sweet, joyful little singing it was this - sadness? - Ah, what is it? - that I heard.
— The Canary, Katherine Mansfield (via brrrig)(via katherine-mansfield)
Monday, April 11, 2011
Your first parent was a star
“What is it that you contain? The dead. Time. Light patterns of millennia opening in your gut. Every minute, in each of you, a few million potassium atoms succumb to radioactive decay. The energy that powers these tiny atomic events has been locked inside potassium atoms ever since a star-sized bomb exploded nothing into being. Potassium, like uranium and radium, is a long-lived radioactive nuclear waste of the supernova bang that accounts for you.
Your first parent was a star.”
Your first parent was a star.”
—Jeanette Winterson
text via: Whiskey Riverimage :here
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
the terrestrial sphere
“His thoughts were hemmed in. One can only draw curved lines on the terrestrial sphere which, as they extend, forever meet with themselves. At such intersections we always encounter what we have already seen.” -
image: Paul den Hollander from Moments in Time, 1972-79. Thank you, aperfectcommotion.
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