10.27.2008
10.26.2008
poetry moment...
CORONA
Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.
In the mirror it’s Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.
My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon’s blood ray.
We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from the street:
it is time they new!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time.
It is time.-Paul Celan
10.25.2008
10.07.2008
Paz
ENVOI
Imprisoned by four walls
(to the North, the crystal of non-knowledge
a landscape to be invented
to the South, reflective memory
to the East, the mirror
to the West, stone and the song of silence)
I wrote messages, but received no reply.
-Octavio Paz
10.03.2008
Who the F*ck is D&G?
Geometry and arithmetic take on the power of the scalpel. Private property implies a space that has been overcoded and gridded by surveying.From A Thousand Plateaus
Chapter 9. 1933: Micropolitics and Segmentarity, p. 212
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
