12:09 a.m. I am a lazy person with ADHD. Para ejemplo: in the last few minutes I picked up and dropped (look at my floor, o would-be housekeepers!) three books, and thought of three people.

St. John's book The Face made me think of Jelena:

IV.
Was it always? -- What do you mean? Infanta asks. I mean,
The darkness situated in the trees...I suppose the last thing
Worth remembering was this sudden sketch: white egrets like dashes above us,
Rising over the estuary. Was that her living silence? Miss Nobody, to you. Still
Assembling & dissembling. That white body like a gasp beneath me, then.
That wasn't at all what I was asking you. I'm sorry, but sometimes it seems
The last thing worth remembering -- Cypress in the wind,
The ribbons of sunlight twisting off Point Pinos, the lighthouse squat
& polite nearby. Was that the ending? No, the simple beginning
Of an ending. Were you in love? Yes, like the spray of waves
Along the rocks, like the deer dancing through the umbrella pines,
Like the fog gathering over the sand & moving in...So why
Did you leave all that? I didn't leave all that, all that
Left me -- All I can remember is the fever of her body, the white
Ember in the long pillow of the bed. Is that all that you remember now? No,
Of course not. But it still remains the last thing worth remembering. Tonight. 

Rilke put me in mind of Guy.

     O stars,
isn't it from you that the lover's desire for the face
of his beloved arises? Doesn't his secret insight
into her pure features come from the pure constellations?

And John Ashberry's "The Ecclesiast" put me in mind of Rebecca, who apparently is not far from my window:

Fine vapours escape from whatever is doing the living.
The night is cold and delicate and full of angels
Pounding down the living. The factories are all lit up,
The chime goes unheard.
We are together at last, though far apart.

And whilst typing this, I'm trying to watch Godard's Le petit soldat, which would be difficult for me to do under the most stimulated or manic of circumstances. (Which this is neither.)

I am so scatterbrained.

apropos de Nice, Anna Karina and Stephanie Gyure could be twins. Despite what you say.

the Funny Show

agriculture poem

my life in the ghost of Bush

time-lapsed (part 1)

unreconciled

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Images are taken without permission from the fine and trusting folks at Folk Arts of Poland; please purchase something from them. Background music stolen without permission from Epitonic, Basta Music, and just about everywhere else my unscrupulous hands could grab something. No rights reserved.

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