And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices And the weak spirit quickens to rebel For the bent goldenrod and the lost sea smell Quickens to recover The call of the quail and the whirling plover And the blind eye creates The empty forms between the ivory
It’s warmer today. Ice-melt drips from the eaves. My nose is running.
My love to all those that I love. My love to all those that love me. My love to all those that love those that I love, And to those that love those that love me,
In old age I am a tourist in my own mind, visiting my best-preserved dreams.
“La plus belle ruse du Diable est de nous persuader qu’il n’existe pas.” – Charles Baudelaire
The body freezes from the outside in. The mind freezes from the inside out.
before born babe bliss had within womb won he worship whatever in that one case done commodiously done was James Joyce, Finnegans Wake
before born babe bliss had within womb won he worship whatever in that one case done commodiously done was -James Joyce, Finnegans Wake