“Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

15 May 2010


"I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling."

i trespass merely may apples to view.  bright eyes from between roots and the sonic retreat of a squirrel.  on the road lilac blossoms rust but bramble shows white nightcaps beneath which berries dream.  the very air is a gift to breathe, gorgeous respite the sibilance of inspiration my lungs love the weather but my soul could use a little sunshine.  i am not afraid of snakes.   cycles and quiet strength sure messengers of the words they most certainly dont want us to hear.  mansions of the moon each day a new day with attendant angels and prevailing deity in which to expand ever outward a universe of souls raindrops on the face of the water.


"It came to almost 1,700 pages. “I was just terrified how long it would end up being,” he said. Wallace told his editor it would be a good beach book, in the sense that people could use it for shade." 

one mans dames rocket is another mans phlox.   i will bring you pheasant feathers and sage ill come and drum and bring the fire to bright.  ill go into the darkness with sweet winds blowing and i will laugh. 
i will be in the Haven, quiet music and creatures breathing, beading breaths with intent to convey.  aimee mann comes on and i cant listen to it.  it all makes perfect sense at last.  all through the scene the piano played elliott smiths bye a wet rag a carousel dirge i smell like wood smoke and feel like a patti griffin song.  
the little girl said that when we made music jesus smiled. 


"I had dinner with my father last night, and made a classic Freudian slip. I meant to say, “Please pass the salt,” but it came out, “You prick, you ruined my childhood." 

how i must seem mad, nattering, beanied and braided poking at the fire for which there is always more wood.  laughing at interior dialectics you always hand to your left his energy left me unsettled, clocked, configured.
round the fire round round with a stang and with ash we fill the spaces. 

that particular ten for today:

1.  wholefruit jars
2.  cloudhorse
3.  becky
4.  porches
5.  rope incense
6.  drums
7.  stars
8.  dogs
9.  fire
10  Cowboy


"The only way of knowing a person is to love them without hope."

ten for today:

1.  hummingbirds at the feeders
2.
"So, two years ago it was cow’s year and we had mad cows. We had avian flu during the year of the chicken and swine flu on pigs year.  2012 is the year of the dragon. Fuck."
3.  dark moon in taurus
4.  a really long walk
5.  (this ones for) Cowboy
6.  this! 
7.  creekwater blessings
"Everyone lives in his own fantasy world, but most people don’t understand that. No one perceives the real world. Each person simply calls his private, personal fantasies the Truth. The difference is that I know I live in a fantasy world. I prefer it that way and resent anything that disturbs my vision."
8.  the Why Not attitude
9.  (on the wish list) 
10.  lunar calendars.

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"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well." -V.V.G.

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)