December 2011
13 posts
continuum.
In 2012, I will finally allow myself to pursue happiness, regardless of who or what I have to leave behind as I begin to make this life my own. I will build myself a home, multiple homes, in the most beautiful pockets and hideaway holes of this volatile breathing delicate sleeping planet. I will laugh on a shoulder of gold, sink into the silence and remember to forever remain in a state of quiet...
frost.
Kodak Gold 200 film pilfered from my grandfather over the summer. Expiration date: Sometime in the eighties or nineties, most probably. A mere eight shots out of 36 were spat out of the developer’s as visually legible prints, but they encompass the freak October snowstorm/Thanksgiving 2011 in Schenectady/balcony evenings, and for that I find them beautiful.
“It does not...
http://usedfurniturereview.com/2011/11/30/five-poem... →
chapter two.
“Tereza was therefore born of a situation which brutally reveals the irreconcilable duality of body and soul, that fundamental human experience.
A long time ago, man would listen in amazement to the sound of regular beats in his chest, never suspecting what they were. He was unable to identify himself with so alien and unfamiliar an object as the body. The body was a cage, and inside that...
be not inhospitable to strangers // lest they be...
Shakespeare and Company 37 Rue de la Bûcherie 75005 Paris, France
George Whitman, Paris Bookseller and Cultural Beacon, Is Dead at 98
sink or swim.
the nature of the quiet (slow turning wrap around silence) is that its delicate first impression should not faze your glassy eyes your heavy head heavy bones heavy body worn from months of wear in sinking into the soft side of the deep morning dew remember what we used to say about birth: in fighting for life i will throw off my armour and follow you streamside, i will trip over sheets...
i never had to hold you by the edges like i do...
The suitcase has been packed, Christmas tree watered (oh how I would love to cart one home with me, they don’t make them like this near the equator and I find that extremely disheartening), carry on stuffed with raspberries and dried mangoes, passport safely tucked away. I am going to finish up Super Sad True Love Story and start on 1984 because you can’t read Murakami without having...
milos.
let us take a sack of spray paint and spray paint over the paintings let us dance through Paris kiss in the shadow of the Louvre crawl inside its windows scrawl manifestos over the canvases write Morse code on the sculptures roll a sleeping bag on the floor to sleep inside of tell one another a story by flashlight unearth everything from before bury each other inside the other feed grapes to the...
notes from another december.
“Good morning New York City. It is nearly one in the afternoon and I am three kg heavier than when I first arrived - this is a problem. There’s something incredibly poetic about long and lonesome train journeys and beautiful boys sitting at Union Station with knitting needles and the leftovers from a Subway sandwich. I am going home in a couple of days I feel amazing and pleasantly aimless...
epilogue.
Teasing apart your day in the face of death, is not, I repeat is not an easy thing to do.
If I had a heart of stone, like I often say that I do, all this all wear all stray hope would graze my back skim the surface without peering into my insides telling me that I have been strong for such a long time, I have almost forgotten what it feels like to lie heavy in the arms of another.
It...
notes of a hallelujah.
Reading Nabokov makes me think that there is an absolute plethora of amazing literature out there that I must sink my hands elbows feet knees soul into before it is too late. I am reminded of the beauty of madness, how I am always drawn to authors who write in a slightly confusing way, with an air of derangement to their already off-kilter complexes.
The poem itself doesn’t exactly...
song.
The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, the weight we carry is love. Who can deny? In dreams it touches the body, in thought constructs a miracle, in imagination anguishes till born in human - looks out of the heart burning with purity - for the burden of life is love, but we carry the weight wearily, ...