Saturday, September 17, 2005


  I met a traveller from an antique land,
  Who said--"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
  Stand in the desart....Near them, on the sand,
  Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
  Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
  Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
  The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
  And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,
  Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
  Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
  Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
  The lone and level sands stretch far away."


(via lak*vi*wstudios dot com)

Shirl*y on Gurdji*ff. (via Scl*rotic Rings)

Watching This Island 3arth to Nils P*tt*r Molvær's Khm*r.

Friday, September 16, 2005

"We wore the necklaces, but we also sometimes broke them apart and melted the beads into different shapes that we used to make pins, earrings, toys, or oddly shaped, multi-colored things that had no real purpose. Mostly we just liked melting the beads, which we could do in my mother's oven or in my Easy-Bake oven. Sometimes we cut up the strings of beads and made them into necklaces or bracelets for our dolls. We drilled holes in the doubloons and made earrings or pins out of them too. Or we put them in one of the plastic pages of the books that housed our doubloon collections. We saved the best necklaces, the longest ones with the beads that looked like shiny, colored pearls, to wear as part of our costumes the next year."

Cthulhu Chick tract. (via M*tafilt*r)

Stairway to B**thov*n (scroll down).

   "For Harvest

The year turns to its rest.
Up from the earth, the fields, the early-fallen dew,
Moves the large star at evening, Arcturus low with autumn,
And summer calls in her many voices upon the frost.

I who have not seen for weeping
The plum ripen and fall, or the yellowing sheaf,
Am not unmindful now of the season that came and went,
The hours that told of freshness,
The bud and the rich leaf.

Though I turned aside before the summer
And weathered but a season of the mind,
Let me sit among you when the husk is stripped,
Let me tell by the bright grain,
Those labours in an acre of cloud and the reap of the wind."

--L*oni* Adams

Thursday, September 15, 2005

   "Virtual Colonoscopy"

chatoyant Thanatopolis cairn
staying for mystic hazaj

and starry Atari who was anagram
bard stulm aorta

spirals word
along with us across Carcosa

Th* Burnt 3arth 3ns*mbl*.

"The emperor of China asked his court painter, 'What's easy to paint and what's hard to paint?' and the answer was 'Dogs are difficult, demons are easy.' "

--Al*x Krr, Dogs and D*mons (2001)

"Chinese has advantages; you cannot make an English poem out of the 16 words you find most interesting."

--Hugh K*nn*r, op cit

"The Narcissist needs Catastrophe."

Wednesday, September 14, 2005


Charlott* S. points out that an old song "Moonlight in V*rmont" is just right for 5-7-5 haiku.

Juan's wrap up.

"Of Delphi a poet might write with some assurance, since it gathered an articulated cult."

--Th* Pound 3ra

Shadows Ov*r Bak*r Str**t.

"The whole clanking machinery of our genre is at once a bug and a feature..."

--Jam*s Patrick K*lly in: Asimov's Sci*nc* Fiction (F*b '04)

A Mozarabic tabiya is what i call 1 Nh3 Nc6 2 d4. (This was play*d in 2004 [Round 4] by two computadoras.)

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

"The Internet is a great place to go if you already know that the mainstream media is heavily biased" and you actively search out sites on the outer limits of the Web, he notes. "Otherwise, it's just another place where they try to sell you stuff..." (via wood_s lot)

"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization,” Thomas Jefferson said, “it expects what never was and never will be."

"Lull himself had said so repeatedly: he was a Sufi whose Beloved was Christ."

--Hav*lock 3llis, Th* Soul of Spain (1908)

"It may be that the kind of thing I have been trying to make is no longer makeable in the kind of way in which I have tried to make it."

--David Jon*s, pr*fac* to Th* Anath*mata (1952)

   "Chango Walk"

blur cling turmoil crystal scram
flying dim unto ignorant stomp

lungfish iron
among foggy kills

cloud scratch aright by us stain vanity flush
as across profound

havoc import of blood vying night
unknown ago idolatry discolor

mutiny unto star works

Sunday, September 11, 2005

'Where pure snow flakes melt

Dark clouds gather threatening

Where art the spring flowers abloom?

A lonely figure lost in the shadow

of sinking sun, I have no place to go.'

--L** Saik

"...Tsegihi, Aztlan and Quivira."


"'s ironic how poorly science fiction anticipated the computer..."

Bananas in Scotland. (via Robot Wisdom)

   "not yet all dispersed,
the nidor of this burning
   & weeping echoes:
where slag has been hauled away
shall the fruit of the forge bloom?"

--from In th* Tim* of th* Fall of th* Tow*rs