306
No one knows this
mountain I inhabit:
deep in white clouds,
forever empty, silent.
-寒山 (translated by David Hinton)
big pockets
AAAAH!
Night turned into day in Utah!!
“ There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting. Consider this utterly commonplace situation: a man is walking down the street. At a certain moment, he tries to recall something, but the recollection escapes him. Automatically he slows down. Meanwhile, a person who wants to forget a disagreeable incident he has just lived through starts unconsciously to speed up his pace, as if he were trying to distance himself from a thing still too close to him in time. In existential mathematics, that experience takes the form of two basic equations: the degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory; the degree of speed is directly proportional to the intensity of forgetting.
Milan Kundera, Slowness. (via mills)
Torei Enji, Zen Circle
watermelons
Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
and spit out the teeth.
-Charles Simic
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Led Zeppelin-Fool in the Rain
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
uuuhsorry what was that? i completely lost interest in everything else-completely hypnotized
“Tonight I walked into the sunset … the whole sky—and there is so much of it out here—was just blazing—and grey-blue clouds were rioting all through the hotness of it … The Eastern sky was all grey-blue—bunches of clouds different kinds of clouds—sticking around everywhere and the whole thing—lit up—first in one place—then in another with flashes of lightning—sometimes just sheet lightning—and sometimes sheet lightning with a sharp bright zigzag flashing across it—I walked out past the last house—past the last locust tree—and sat on the fence for a long time—just looking at the lightning—you see there was nothing but sky and flat prairieland—land that seems more like the ocean than anything else I know— There was a wonderful moon—Well I just sat there and had a great time all by myself—not even many noises—just the wind … and the SKY—Anita you have never seen SKY—it is wonderful.”
-Georgia O’Keeffe (Evening Star VII)
dead enough
I guess my Grandfather was supposed to be dead,
except the last time I was at his house
he was still there, not in a coffin, but a chair
surrounded by thousands of potted flowers.
“All these flowers, it’s a damn shame
people don’t have better things to spend money on.”
From under the chair he produced a hammer,
“Start smashing, kid!”
We destroyed that room,
we ripped and tore till each arrangement
was spread out naked on the rug.
Grandpa brought in the hose
and washed every petal down.
“You could spray and soak
and not one of these colors would
bleed unless you touched it.”
So we filled our arms with bouquets,
rushed out to the wood chipper
and shot clouds of petals
raining roses, hyacinths and carnations
over several sullen blocks.
The old neighbor with blue and pink in her hair
came to scream through the fence.
“You were supposed to be dead. A lot of people
are going to be mad you’re not dead!”
“Shut up you old bag! I’m dead enough!”
and he shot a storm of nasturtiums at her.
The sky turned a twirling red.
Over the whir of the machine, torn
chrysanthemums bled laughter.
-scott poole
“ …you can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count.
Rabbit
“ without music life would b flat
