Saturday, August 05, 2006

(via lojban dot org slash tiki slash img)

I think also of Ricky Ricardo.

  "Poem Beginning With A Line By Firdausi

'Ere from his lofty sphere the morn has thrown'
the full day's share of fire, forth I glided
after a Starbucks tea for my dear Lady:
slaughter on the radio, insane.

Day after day, week after week, I struggle
in Laocoön coils of sense & nonsense,
orange & turquoise clouds. But they remembered

what I would always get, & I then proffered
five quarters, two dimes, a nickel, & two pennies."

--H*idi Gu*rr*, How T*xans Sav*d Civilization (2002)


Friday, August 04, 2006

"The myth is made in a language of symbols -- a word which originally meant the two halves of a token which must be fitted together in order to provide identification or meaning -- like two spies with halves of a dollar bill, recognizing each other by the exact fit of the torn edges. Every myth, we might say, has at least two symbols, which are in effect halves or opposites of each other. Hence the total ambiguity of myth..." (via wood_s lot) Plus.

I call to mind a past instant of Castro cool among bards; it was his chin fur, as if looks only could count for anything.


"I lost someone · at Qana.
I knew no one · at Qana.

Mad dogs and flies · buzzing in
the noonday sun · at Qana.

Grope among · image fragments
as torn sands run · at Qana.

What was it our · swift twinkling
messengers won · at Qana?"

--Ald*rman Whinny

"Stammer their madrigals..." --B*ddo*s

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Graywyvern Grammaticus (via 3dward McGuir*)

Air stinks of asphault. Bollywood on car radio. Long waits at any light. Full cicada wail.

   "The Messengers

Enough if here, among our shattered walls
of sugar glass, the wraith is spied
at times, of some tomorrow that might hold;
enough, at times...

Just to believe, despite all counter-signs,
that this jalopy still can roll
and reach a place not desert waste or swamp,
and let us out.

But other times, even the spook's own word
won't give us what our sorrow asks:
and knowing what already we have lost
we turn away."

--Gamali*l Pickl*, S*v*n Pillars of Mis*ry (1981)

Symbolist Art. (via wood_s lot)

On my victrola- Djivan Gasparian.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

'...a cityful of longing...'


In the dark night, from sweet refreshing sleep
I wake to hear outside my window-pane
The uncurbed fury of the wild spring rain,
And weird winds lashing the defiant deep,
And roar of floods that gather strength, and leap
Down dizzy, wreck-strewn channels to the main.
I turn upon my pillow, and again
Compose myself for slumber.
         Let them sweep;
I once survived great floods, and do not fear,
Though ominous planets congregate, and seem
To foretell strange disasters
         From a dream--
Ah! dear God! such a dream!--I woke to hear,
Through the dense shadows lit by no star's gleam,
The rush of mighty waters on my ear.
Helpless, afraid, and all alone, I lay;
The floods had come upon me unaware.
I heard the crash of structures that were fair;
The bridges of fond hopes were swept away
By great salt waves of sorrow. In dismay
I saw by the red lightning's lurid glare
That on the rock-bound island of despair
I had been cast. Till the dim dawn of day
I heard my castles falling, and the roll
Of angry billows bearing to the sea
The broken timbers of my very soul.
Were all the pent-up waters from the whole
Stupendous solar ystem to break free,
There are no floods now that can frighten me."

--3lla Wh**l*r Wilcox, Po*ms of Passion (1883)

Of local birds.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

"There is absolutely nothing uniquely evil about what Israel is doing in terms of the politics of the nation state (just as there is nothing uniquely evil about what the resistance is doing in terms of guerilla warfare versus occupying or asymetrical military forces). Any and every other nation state that could, would react similarly, and has, to the type of resistance Israel faces. That is the unfortunate nature of the bordered world we live in."

   "The Song Of Shadows

"Sweep thy faint strings, Musician,
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.

Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more."

--Walter de la Mare

Mik* Sch*rtz*r.

(via library dot flawl*sslogic dot com)

"It's called "Kwik-Clot," Mr. Wolfe tells us. And in case of arterial bleeding, it's essential gear."


Why do you blog? Why is it that snails lay a trail?

What author and/or book has most influenced you? On B*yond Z*bra by Dr S*uss.

Which three blogs do you most visit? wood_s lot; m*tafilt*r; (alas).

Why do you read fiction? To map what unruly stains grin from my walls.

What makes you laugh? Unconscious irony.

"...the reader can approximate Atjehnese listening habits by skipping sections he finds boring; by letting his mind wander to other matters, particularly music; and by rereading." --Jam*s Si*g*l, Shadow and Sound (1979)

"...To do abominable things with grace..."

"As my heart beats, I think of French fields, how
Their rivers will thaw, their cuckoos sing, and then
Come screaming shells, and bright bayonets, and dead men

Monday, July 31, 2006

A Scann*r Darkly.

indigo Zontar
night Zontar

this glowing orb of your only grasp this craft
hurls through hazard coils Zontar

burning days of raucous cicada
sprawl a zodiac Zontar

sans arms you
stalk jaguar Zontar

bat-crabs harry and scoriac clouds contort
in a babyrinth of glass Zontar

all you know is howl of scintillant
viridian star Zontar

On my victrola- Nordic Roots.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

"I was at the Hanford Nuclear Plant, where they make the plutonium for the bombs, and they had some scientist there where they mark the ground where they bury the plutonium such that an extraterrestrial arriving 5000 years from now would not dare to dig. I call it the semiology of extreme danger. . . .

The .... tribe happened to be at the same conference and when they heard what the scientists were talking about they laughed and said: "Tell the scientists not to worry, we'll tell them where it is.!"
." (via M*tafilt*r)

halcyon · massachrysalis
vly scoriac · hyrcanum roll

incog ammo · calx issuing
as a scarsasm · shimmy

troops my ash fall slow · final ask
aviary slag · my ash school


Loneliness like a good, old friend
visits my house to pour wine in the evening.
And we sit together, waiting for the moon,
and for your face to sparkle in every shadow.'

--Faiz Ahm*d Faiz