baby bird mama's birthday girl looks damn fine
we bury our hatchets in bottles and powders
lingerie and dancing
we get fucked up and slither around
to celebrate us
together
young and alive
if only just barely
for tonight
that glorious
only

soul landscape

on the waste, beneath the sky, distinguished by Watt as being, the one above, the other beneath, Watt. That before him, behind him, on all sides of him, there was something else, neither sky nor waste, was not felt by Watt. And it was always their long dark flowing away together towards the mirage of union that lay before him, whichever way he turned. The sky was of a dark colour, from which it may be inferred that the usual luminaries were absent. They were. The waste also, needless to say, was of a dark colour, which is hardly to be wondered at. Watt also was very naturally of the same dark colour. This dark colour was so dark that the colour could not be identified with certainty. Sometimes it seemed a dark absence of colour, a dark mixture of all colours, a dark white. But Watt did not like the words dark white, so he continued to call his darkness a dark colour, plain and simple, which strictly speaking it was not, seeing that the colour was so dark as to defy identification as such.
The source of the feeble light diffused over the scene is unknown.
Further peculiarities of this soul-landscape were:
The temperature was warm.
Beneath Watt the waste rose and fell.
All was silent.
Above Watt the sky fell and rose.
Watt was rooted to the spot.

Beckett - Watt

It must be abstract It must change It must give pleasure

the real unreal: the unnameable: the howl: the ineffable: the iridescent: the void: the origin of change: the muddy centre before we breathed: the myth before the myth: the first idea in violet space: a passion felt, not understood: the anonymous colour of the universe: the savage plainness: the silence: the vulgate: the gibberish: the hermit in poet’s metaphors: the to and fro both at once: the alpha omega: the round and round like wine at a table: dark things without a double: the exactest point at which the thing is itself: the movable, the moment: the permanent impermanent: the indifferent eye: the big X: the dominant blank, the unapproachable: the cold and earliness and bright origin: the bodiless half: the clearing for outpouring: the single sleep: the intricate evasions: the senseless element: the coming on and coming forth: the final form: the clearness: the traversing shade: the rugged and luminous, chants in the dark: the and yet, and yet, and yet: the possible, possible, possible…



Yves Klein, Wallace Stevens

sun warms my skin again

time passes quickly when i must change my mind again and grow swiftly into something else.
today i bit a thread of summer from the air, no chill. i don't know when it happened - the warm - all of a sudden it just was, as i just am, idyllic again.
what dream has passed, dissolved into the new? i can barely remember, the long sun makes all but the day vague.

the day is good, the sun is bright.

and in darkness - this phase of the moon holds just me in it; the orbits have shifted again. satellites, distant and intimate, adjust without commotion in orderly silence.

in the dark, i have much space around me and i sleep long sleeps in the simpleness of it.
wasn't there just a mist here with me? i wake up thirsty often.

the night is good, the sky is dark.

i am a quiet pagan, attuned to changes only;
now i am warm and i am all
bending in tiny grace to the small and giant eyes,
dissolving, unswayable.

Sartre

We write for our contemporaries; we want to behold our world not with future eyes - which would be the surest means of killing it - but with our eyes of flesh, our real, perishable eyes. We don't want to win our case on appeal, and we have will have nothing to do with any posthumous rehabilitation. Right here in our own lifetime is when and where our cases will be won or lost.

way to live

before sleep, delete all but the most essential kernels of memory, so that in the morning history is gone. wake up free.

assume whatever theme or character desired; there will no obligation for day-to-day consistency, as only essentials nestle in after surviving nightly deletion and dictate aesthetics from within. the rest is chaff and easily changed.

"i am what i am because i say that i am": infinite possibilities lie within this mindset; being and becoming cleave together. perfect it.

make firm decisions; all circumstances can be broken down to 'yes or no' criteria, choose one or the other, with honesty and realism.

be discerning, cautious and observant; decide accordingly.

protect yourself, trust initial instincts.

be passionate selectivity, with abandon and whenever possible; recognize connection on essential levels. this is rare.

reflect.

go to great lengths for important things. constantly evaluate what that means; have foresight and wisdom followed by decisive action.

look forward.