In search of a place to be born, part III.

December 31, 2005 on 12:11 am | In photo, poem | 1 Comment







index, very carefully structured, in no order whatsoever, in a few worlds:

The evil aye or the Evel I;
ring-around a tree of fire; fire;
Treigh O’Feire; Granny Smith’s tree;
gonna take your kitty and
sell ‘im to a Chinese grocery;
hoja de vida; fire of the trees;
queixos de tetilla
no fume de lume
; me,
taken surreptitiously
as all things; lamp
light burn all night;
mono-desaturated tree, fat
with fire yet still fat free;
flat-chested flowers;
tendril cloth on tender marble;
one fat cat, hip at that sitting
by the fire; why, cats never starve;
where would the queen of slow
sit and sip sloe like a cup
of fire juice, sluicing;
pressing the button, a
hearth that depends
on the heartbeat of
slowness, vision always
sanded by her hope

In search of a place to be born, pt. II

December 28, 2005 on 3:53 pm | In photo | No Comments




this last photo was taken by matt, developed by me

In search of a place to be born

December 28, 2005 on 2:02 am | In photo | No Comments

Here are some images that remain. It is what happens when you are mistakenly packed away in some traveler’s suitcase, and your body is left behind to wait for the soul to return!

for Amy.
Index: The woods of Luria Park, near my home, where I would hear countless bullfrogs, but saw only one, once; Rosie, pockets full of posies, sitting pretty in her lovely pose-y; a manmade lake, a short walk from home, still frozen, three cracks on an icy Golgotha; where we sat amongst the reeds, betwixt ducks and geese and sunflower seeds:





One about Rosie

December 26, 2005 on 10:56 pm | In poem, texts | No Comments

from Stories from a forgetting land

. . . Rosie is on the ground passed out with clout. An authoritative run has made her come undone. Seventeen minutes in the land without sun, the night-sky sidewalks of Falls Church. Seventeen minutes in the cold trotting, an infrequent gait for this great red dog. When we returned she chose to sleep, and now that it is night, there she keeps her dream of keeping to her dreaming.

_____mas blend recipes

December 26, 2005 on 3:12 am | In texts | No Comments

The Moon’s Recipe for Strawberry Jam

(based on a crude drawing by eduardo ramos, smudged in many places)
(also, based on a true story told by someone else, methinks)
(perform touched by the royalty of slowness)

Ingredients:

Fresh Strawberries, sugar, pectin, high fructose corn-syrup, super-high fructose corn syrup, sucrose-supercharged ultrafructose corn syrup, pure/basic-elemental concentrated corn syrup concentrate, corn syrup infused with syringes of corn syrup essence, musk of high fructose, syrup of high-fructose corn, lactating corn-based syrup signifying derivatives, lonely atoms all full of unloved high-fructose corn syrup, infinite works of invisible corn syrup energy-matter…

Condense into a gelatinous paste with haste
Place in a mason jar, jam-packed
Create a label that proclaims:
“Strawberry Jam” or simply
“Preserves”
Finally, remember to taste

boy, be generous with your mother

December 25, 2005 on 2:06 am | In photo | No Comments

in tribute to her plenitude of lentitude

December 22, 2005 on 11:29 pm | In photo | No Comments

She is the Queen of Slow. With her most real touch, she makes waste of haste, lets me live in the world of her standstill of time, simply lets me be. She is a goddess to pray for in the name of Unproductivity, Lollygag of the Ancients, Rain, and Love. These pictures are a toast to the most sublime slowing of all, a reflection from the longest night of the winter solstice, night of longing for warmth.


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