My father’s tears ran
for his mother’s life
down the back alley
to the butcher shop
to beg a block of ice
which had melted
from his face
uneeded
she was already cold
a grievous insult to beauty
at the unskilled hands
of another sort of butcher
wielding instruments
jagged and imprecise
destroyers of little boys lives
I wish I had read this on a page held between my bare hands…stunning
Gary Larson
“If a tree falls in the woods, and nobody is around to hear it, and it hits a mime, does anyone care?”
—Gary Larson (The Complete Far Side 1980-1994)
“Love is never directed toward this or that property of the loved one (being blond, being small, being tender, being lame), but neither does it neglect the properties in favor of an insipid generality (universal love): The lover wants the loved one with all of its predicates, its being such as it is.”
Giorgio Agamben
“…there is no head of state in the world today who is not in virtuality a criminal. Those who shoulder the dreary mantle of sovereignty know that their turn may come to be branded a criminal by their colleagues. We certainly will not be the ones to complain. For the sovereign, who freely consented to donning the executioner’s clothes, is now finally manifesting his originary kinship with the criminal. ”
—Giorgio Agamben (Means Without End: Notes on Politics)
current read
Don’t the stars look menacing tonight
squeezing out sparks
across the moon’s face
which has fallen
over the hospital
and the power lines
hanging like crucifixes
squeezing out sparks
which have fallen
across my face
as sirens wail in the distance
trying to put it all back together
again
I close my eyes
conquistador
here in the dark
and look all around me
coiled metal springs
hissing and hungry
spoon fed answers
by a friend of a friend
in a bar in Barcelona
singing me into existence
a totem in mothballs
I fell through
what little pieces of this world
can do to one’s landscape
stones and stoned
unleashed and lashed
into a vault of souls
it all looks so different
here in the dark
Which Will - Lucinda Williams (Nick Drake cover)
I was awake, my hands
holding tiny ponds,
beads of rain falling from my lip,
the mercy of my hair
caught in the power window,
the date lost, the hour grotesque
about the sun dust caked across my face,
maybe there was a clown,
a shady purple canvas tent at the end of a sidewalk,
a bible missing, a letter sent-
maybe I was the real show, fiery I mean
lost in the aisles of the nearby Walmart,
too early for the automatic doors,
the drug counter,
the one hour photo,
the opened bag of candy on the floor
but I was awake
the last time I checked.
Rufus Wainwright - My Phone’s on Vibrate for You
G.K. Chesterton (from the wonderfully thoughtful and provactive Whiskey River) (via crashinglybeautiful)
