April 2012
11 posts
It’s only through the invasive dark that we’re permitted to see lightness, love, the spectra of our miraculous humanity, our shared jaunts to rebirth.
“‘I suppose I’ll just have to live with this grief,’ he thought. A grief that one might feel when a loved one is dying slowly, painfully, letting their life evaporate in a thin mist over their head while getting nearer, ever nearer to the boatman. “Out of my hands,” he liked to say to himself, though he knew that he could never let that be the case. He shivered,...
“Space is the breath of art.”
– Frank Lloyd Wright (via elenahol)
They prodded the thin skein of an unintelligable dimension and, realizing its properties were those of a manmade thing, fell back into themselves - into an embrace which embraces only what it can measure. Fluids, hormones, the relentless flow of presupposed hate.
She came to visit one night after you’d gotten home from a bad date – a really bad date, you thought, the whole movie seemed sour as you were sitting next to this stranger and waiting for the hurried outpour of couples and quartets. After a hasty goodbye and a cold walk home your mother told you she’d called. A lifetime had past since you’d lost her number.
“Is that right?” you asked, remembering...
Lowell
I see His vanishing
emblems, His white spire and flag-
pole sticking out above the fog,
like old white china doorknobs, sad,
slight, useless things to calm the mad.
It's not a general numbness, not a pin-prick...
Love isn’t something that can be reduced to a fourteen-line poem. It’s not something that can be shot and spliced to a ninety-minute film under the auspices of any shamelessly consumptive market. What it is, however, is one of those forces - much like gravity and memory - whose ineluctable logic pulls everyone together, pushes them apart, and sets them amid Indian uprisings and their...
I attended an author’s funeral when I was thirteen. I heard the mutterings of far-flung aunts and uncles. I bore their condolences, half listening, half fixed on mortality and the sight of him lying in a walnut box. I thought about the animator who decided his that project was too old, gone to senility in his last years, rearranging his room to no effect, moving his socks and underwear from drawer...
It's a holiday in Limbo.
"Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have...
