Friday, September 27, 2013

If you're lonely

you never show a sign.
No devotion
could ever change your mind.
No illusion
when your work is done.
Nobody knows you -

did you ever dream?
wonder why
at all the anger
you have seen?

does your blood run cold?
No light shines in your eyes
no burning flame in your soul.

your commission was written in the sand.
No emotion could ever stay in your hand.
No consolation
no word of love or praise.
your fight is over -

did you ever dream? . . .

Monday, September 23, 2013

"...Praised are You,

O' Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
who has Not
made me a woman..."
(Morning Blessings, The Talmud)

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

"Images of broken light

which dance before me
like a million eyes
They call me on and on
across the universe..."

Friday, September 13, 2013

"Perfection is nonexistent,

and we're all living
in a fake plastic world
trying to be something
we're not."
- Angalieneon


Friday, September 6, 2013

"When you grow up,

you realize
there's no monster
under your bed,
but millions of them
outside your house..."

(Yang Xueguo art)

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

"All that you touch

All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.

All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.

All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal.

All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.

All that you eat
everyone you meet
All that you slight
everyone you fight.

All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon."

(art by Lucian Stanculescu)

Monday, September 2, 2013

Death (or reference to death)

makes men precious and pathetic;
their ghostliness is touching;
any act they perform may be their last;
there is no face that is not on the verge
of blurring and fading away
like the faces in a dream.
Everything in the world of mortals
has the value of
the irrecoverable and contingent.

Among the Immortals,
on the other hand,
every act (every thought) 
is the echo of others
that preceded it in the past,
with no visible beginning,
and the faithful presage of others
that will repeat it in the future, advertiginem.
There is nothing that is not as though lost
between indefatigable mirrors.
Nothing can occur but once,
nothing is preciously in peril of being lost.
The elegiac, the somber, the ceremonial
are not modes
the Immortals hold in reverence.
- Borges (The Immortals)