Separated at birth

"I have only one sentence left.
I want a voice
put into my arms and hands and hair and feet…"

— Euripides, Hekabe, translated by Anne Carson

"Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up to the grand northern lights?"

— Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

"Brutal
for you to parade

in a body
in the same
room where I dream you."

— Andrea Cohen, from “Brutal”

"But even as we leave, your love turns back. I feel
your absence like the ringing of bells silenced. And salt
over your eyes and the scales of salt between us. Now,
you pass with ease into the destructive world.
There is a dry crash of cement. The light fails,
falls into the ruins of cities upon the distant shore
and within the indestructible night I am alone."

— Robert Duncan, from “Passage Over Water”

"I love you, but, because inexplicably I love in you something more than you … I mutilate you."

— Jacques Lacan, Seminar XI, trans. Alan Sheridan

"First you hear the words
and they are like all other words,

ordinary, breathing out of lips,
moving toward you in a straight line.

Later they shatter
and rearrange themselves. They spell

something else hidden in the muscles
of the face, something the throat wanted to say."

— Ruth Stone, from “The Wound”

"When a poem compels one to read it with passion, the reader feels he is momentarily its author, and that is how he knows the poem is beautiful."

— Paul Valéry, The Art of Poetry, trans. Denise Folliot

“An inborn force of personality, always present in great teachers, speakers, actors, and politicians, automatically marshals people into ordered groups around a focal point of power. In history the human drive is toward monarchy. Western Culture has produced the best system yet for organizing and taming those king seeking energies: representative democracy, part of our pagan heritage. But our atavistic longings for hierarchy are satisfied by another pagan institution, Hollywood, with its charismatic, imperial stars” — co

As if nothing is happening.
Feels like it doesn't it? We're treading through, sliding and pushing against the moving waters of earlier peoples.
Inching.
The grand notion, the sense of something coming, of something being achieved in our time just isn't there.
The world is still teeming of course,changing, but progressing? That's another thing isn't it?

What have we given back to God? Or better still-more essential yet-reprimanded Him with?


I said at the beginning of this blog that my core interests we're the arts. I don't even know what that is anymore... the arts,no...
having an interest in them.These arts. They're not really too interesting.Just as we're not too.
Treading, pushing,static and worn down these arts are.
These arts.
Of our time.
Ours.
Time.
Timely.
Arts.

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times

OCCUPY THIS

NOW THEY START DEMONSTRATING?!
FOR THEIR FUCKING WALLETS!

DIDN'T STRIKE OVER...
TWO (VISIBLE ) WARS, CITIZENS JAILED WITHOUT LEGAL REPRESENTATION,KILLED,
... BLACK SITES,GITMO(!!!!!)
RACIST,SEXIST,HOMOPHOBIC VILE POISON IN OUR POLITICS -ALL THE SCUM RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT,CONGRESS.

NOW THEY FUCKING DEMONSTRATE!?

FOR THEIR FUCKING WALLETS!

"And as we stray further from love

We multiply the words,

Words and sentences long and orderly.

Had we remained together

We could have become a silence."

Yehuda Amichai, (trans. Assia Gutmann) from “Quick and Bitter” (via ahuntersheart)

Yvonne Rainer Trio A

	Imogen Cunningham, American, 1883 - 1976
Title	Eve Repentant

Read the Full Text of Yvonne Rainer’s Letter Denouncing Marina Abramovic’s LA MoCA Gala | In the Air: Art+Auction's Gossip Column | ARTINFO.com

Read the Full Text of Yvonne Rainer’s Letter Denouncing Marina Abramovic’s LA MoCA Gala | In the Air: Art+Auction's Gossip Column | ARTINFO.com

Rhenish Master, early 15th century

St. Margaret, c. 1400

black and red chalk, wash, 214 × 140 mm

Collection of Prints and Drawings, inv. no. 1

Szépművészeti Múzeum, Budapest

"Little Annie Fanny"

"Yes, I read. I have that absurd habit. I like beautiful poems, moving poetry, and all the beyond of that poetry.
I am extraordinarily sensitive to those poor, marvelous words left in our dark night by a few men I never knew."

Louis Aragon, Treatise on Style

Richard Brautigan, “The Second Kingdom”

In the first kingdom
of the stars,
everything is always
half-beautiful.

Your fingernails
are angels
sleeping after
a long night
of making love.

The sound of
your eyes: snow
coming down
the stairs
of the wind.

Your hair
is the color
of God picking
flowers.

In the second
kingdom of the stars
there is only

you.

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Bees see your face as a strange flower”

Nashville warblers see you as a scary-looking tree.

Garden snakes slithering into lilies see you as a storm.

The abandoned house perceives a possible doctor.

You sweep up mouse crumbs, then turn your back.

Children on the other side of the world see you as glittering.

Depressive sees your smile as a threat.

Dude playing top volume rap sees old lady staring back.

The sea, the sky, the air see us as trouble.

They’re right of course. We see each other as the landmarks of a day.

History doesn’t see us. It doesn’t see us at all.

From this we should draw one ounce of relief.

Amy Lowell, “A Lover”

If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly
I could see to write you a letter.

Joe Frazier: "Smokin Joe" (January 12, 1944 - November 7, 2011) 56 wins, 37 KO’s, 5 losses.

Brian Patten, “Sometimes It Happens”

And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.

And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.

And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.

And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.

So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon as you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.

"So as a teacher for example I face waves and waves of sadness coming at me and through me from rooms and rooms of students who are sitting there hating one thing or another about their bodies. It’s a great sorrow to me. One of the MANY revolutions we need in this country and everywhere is a CORPOREAL revolution — a radical revisioning of bodily existence with a new value system and a new aesthetic that prioritizes being and knowing rather than appearance and trite fadism. Tantamount to sadism. Why are we continually torturing the one thing we’ve got in life that carries us through the glory of a life? My list of how we got this way is quite long and involves righteous ranting. Religion. Gender codes. Social organization. Consumer culture. The cult of proper citizenship and mating. Somebody get me a soapbox."

Lidia Yuknavitch in the new Dear Sugar column.

Dirt Devil-The Exorcist