Slow sunday

And Virginia's cat continues filching fish in the corner of our eyes... so we watch and count the spines - see where the tail drops; It leaves an oily mark, as the clouds passing rivet the shadows like rivers across our faces. Our stained hands are heavy, for there is nothing on which to hold a firm grip, long dissolved is the comfort in which we were warmly held.

Pencil on paper

"There is the puddle,' said Rhoda, "and I cannot cross it. I hear the rush of the great grindstone within an inch of my head. Its wind roars in my face. All palpable forms of life have failed me. Unless I can stretch and touch something hard, I shall be blown down the eternal corridors for ever. What, then, can I touch? What brick, what stone? and so draw myself across the enormous gulf into my body safely?"

VIRGINIA WOOLF - THE WAVES

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Síndrome siberiano

"MEOW"

Pen on paper. GIMP

 "- Hajime -dijo- cuando te miro mientras conduces me dan ganas de alargar la mano y dar un volantazo. Si lo hiciera, moriríamos, ¿verdad?

- Seguro. Vamos a ciento treinta kilometros por hora. (...)

-No te preocupes. No lo haré - dijo- Sólo que a mí se me ocurren estas cosas. A veces. "

MURAKAMI, HARUKI. Al sur de la frontera, Al oeste del sol.

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F.S.Blumm & Nils Frahm - Heber by sonic pieces

Button up those bones

"They made love through the hole in the wall. The three lovers pressed against one another, but never fully touched. The Kolker kissed the wall, and Brod kissed the wall, but the selfish wall never kissed either back. The Kolker pressed his palms against the wall, and Brod, who turned her back to the wall to accommodate love, pressed the backs of her thighs against the wall, but the wall remained indifferent, never acknowledging what they were trying so hard to do." 

FOER, JONATHAN SAFRAN - Everything Is Illuminated

Ara Lucrecia Dalt by Iso.belle

Pen on paper

All simmering away, our boiled shreds dance to the broths bubbling. 

Somewhere, the vapor is lifting in threads from the skeleton's frozen hair.

Clinking of fossils, chiseled embeds of the things we never said. 


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Let My Key Be C (Thriller Edit) by Fluid Radio

The hook

How do you play the game when you see

all the hooks and

the rules rip the loopholes wide,

gaping stage of dancing strings and pantomimes

"The primary and most beautiful of Nature`s qualities is motion, which agitates her at all times, but this motion is simply a perpetual consequence of crimes, it is conserved by means of crimes alone."

D.A.F DE SADE

As True As Troilus by FareWell Poetry


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"And in our quiet hour
I feel I see everything
And am in love with the hook
Upon which everyone hangs"

JOANNA NEWSOM

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Syndactyly

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"I have decided to leave Clea’s last letter un-answered. I no longer wish to coerce anyone, to make promises, to think of life in terms of compacts, resolutions, covenants. It will be up to Clea to interpret my silence according to her own needs and desires, to come to me if she has need or not, as the case may be. Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?"

LAWRENCE DURRELL - Clea

-

Pen on paper. GIMP

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By the apple trees of Anon

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And from the train, where the tracks had slid me down through the seasons, colour burst at my pupils, 

but I could not know it. A line had been cast.

 

(9th may 2011)

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Sealed, white

rime crisped your beard,

godless wire filigree framing

You, the selfish giant

No blood seeped the rippling

tinkle

of snow blossoms, ice encrusted

at your pores.

No child played by your apple tree

Motionless dream,

frozen at the pillow,

Where you lay woven

in your creaking bed

Of wicker willow.

Image: Jose Luís Pérez

  

""I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming," said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; "I hope there will be a change in the weather."

But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none. "He is too selfish," she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King's musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. "I believe the Spring has come at last," said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.
What did he see?"

OSCAR WILDE - THE SELFISH GIANT

Remix - pieces of us were left on the tracks... by Library Tapes by Abdul benCamel

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Shiver

All the birds have flown away

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At Dawn (Vogel) by Pantaleimon


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