"
As drawing from a songbird’s
coloratura, I dreamt the secret to prosperity is being
commonesque.
Timothy Donnelly | from “The Rumored Existence of Other People” | The Cloud Corporation
so be it. evoke the forms. where you've nothing else construct ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them.
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"Hush, my sweet. These tornadoes are for you."
Richard Siken | excerpt from ”A Primer for the Small Weird Loves” | Crush | Yale University Press, 2005
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"How do our lives ravel out into the no-wind, no-sound, the weary gestures wearily recapitulant: echoes of old compulsions with no-hand on no-strings: in sunset we fall into furious attitudes, dead gestures of dolls."
William Faulkner | As I Lay Dying | Jonathan Cape & Harrison Smith, Inc, 1930
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“It’s a most distressing affliction to have a sentimental heart and a skeptical mind.”
—Naguib Mahfouz, from Sugar Street: The Cairo Trilogy, Volume 3 (Anchor, 2011)
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There is finitude in ice and icy finitude
in public realms. The of-a-pieceness of it. It
maddened me, I wanted life to shatter. Glitter
like jewely fragments so I might admire. Rude
governance was not for me. I loved rage.
Its edges caught the light.—Richard Lamb, from ““Margaret Trudeau’s ‘Pied Beauty’”
Photography Credit Roy DeCaravayes.
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Figure 2. Fred Sandback, Untitled, c. 1975
Pastel on paper, 9 x 11 15/16 inches (22.9 x 30.3 cm)
© 2012 Fred Sandback Archive -
At the bus stop, a blind man sells colored pencils.
Ballpoint pens, too, at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Ten cents for a pencil, two bits for a pen.
Around the corner, a boy from the orphanage
gives a bookmark to anyone who drops money into his box—
no matter if it’s a nickel or a dollar.
A different boy every day, rotating by the month.
There are that many boys at the orphanage, I am told,
and I am grateful not to be one and fearful that I could be—
these boys in their coarse blue suits and thick-soled black
shoes,
faces alternately fierce and frightened
and in their eyes the sad lights of distant ports
faintly flickering as they repeat the same refrain:
Alms for Saint Gregory,
the name of their orphanage,
the patron saint of shipwrecked sailors,
of lost travelers.—Nicholas Christopher, “The Orphanage”
Photography Credit Ruben Brulat -
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Slip is one
law of crash
among dozens.There is also
shift—
moving a
granite lozenge
to the left
a little,
sending down
a cliff.Also toggles:
the idle flip
that trips
the rails
trains travel.No act
or refusal
to act, no
special grip
or triple lock
or brake stopscrash: crash
quickens
on resistance
like a legal system
out of Dickens.—Kay Ryan, “Crash”
Art Credit Dr. Harold E. Edgerton
Theme: Linear by Peter Vidani
