21 posts tagged “photography”
There were:
luques grilled shrimp manchego cheese
poetry Riesling The Kinks
couscous Absinthe* Beethoven
art by Joe Brainard yellow tulips tiny purple flowers
trees in blossom scent of ginger, scent of purple tiny portrait of Jim Carroll
Extraordinary Machine omelets fresh parsley, oregano
Red Renunculous Redbud, Crabapple, Dogwood Spider Chrysanthemum
Arvo Part "In the Sprintime of His Voodoo" peppermint & lavender soaps
Oysters! Pelegrino blackberries, passionfruit tiny photo of an angel
"love the one you're with" earrings made of crushed Roman glass
"you go back Jack/ do it again/ we're turning round and round..."
people of all nationalities many flashing cameras (Andrea's med-school graduation)
and finally there was Rilke:
XXI
Spring is back. The earth
is like a child, the poem white
much, o much.....for the trouble
of long learning, she wins the prize.
Her teacher was strict. We liked
the white in the beard of the old man.
Now, when we ask what the green
and the blue mean, she knows, she knows!
Earth, you lucky one, play
with the children. We want to
catch you, happy earth.
The happiest succeeds.
O, what her teacher taught her
and what stands in roots and
long difficult stems: she sings it, she sings!
*Absinthe is now legal in two places in the United States: Ann Arbor and California.
You are happy, happy, but I am a thousand times happier!
Whom have I encountered in my dream last night? Only I know.
I am so happy, I cannot be contained in the world;
But like a spirit, I am hidden from the eyes of the world.
If the foot of the trees were not tied to earth, they would be pursuing me;
For I have blossomed so much, I am the envy of the gardens.
--Rumi
May 1, 2008
Little boy comes up:
"Can I be teacher?"
"No."
Great blue eyes like wheels.
Today: ecology, biology,
botany.
Last night: Erika.
"Leute, gehen wir tanzen?"
(People, are we going dancing?)
The wish to dance: honor that.
Remember Joanne Kyger?
Mahalia Jackson swinging it.
(Man get relaxed
Woman get permanent)
Back in classroom.
Little boy looks blank.
Can't think what to write.
He's new, doesn't like science,
I sympathize.
"Which of the following
is not the main function
of roots?"
sea urchins.
Cross-pollination:
braincandy transfer.
Uploaded on June 6, 2007
by Arman Zhenikeyev
*
August 5, 2007
Dear Henry,
Last night I had another one of my vivid dreams. This time I appeared to be at a library with my mother. I had discovered a large bookcase, a stack of books that I could climb to the top shelf. When I got to the top shelf I discovered books and paintings, watercolor paintings done by other students from The Residential College. These students were Asian students and the watercolors were just amazing. I had to climb down from the bookcase to show her what I had found. But when I climbed back up again to put the watercolors back, she grew anxious and I had the feeling that she thought the bookcase might topple over on me. It didn’t, I climbed back down knowing that I had discovered a treasure, but to her the treasure didn’t seem as great as what the treasure seemed to me. The treasure was the treasure of art. Jung says, what it actually was, was the treasure of the self. Perhaps it was my self reminding me of the treasure of my art, the gift of my art, and that I should not be lonely, a lonely little ego, because I have my self and my gifts. Do you suppose that’s true? I think it must be true because I felt very lonely before I fell asleep, but when I woke up I felt as though I had discovered a treasure and I was not to be lonely anymore because the treasure isn’t lost. I have it within me. What a comfort and a solace that is!
Love, M.*
from the roman a clef Marguerite
Uploaded on September 26, 2007 by Stranju
Last night I, dreamer, along the edges of positive incomprehension, was with his life. It was almost as if I studied him. Morecorrectly: we alternated encounters between being. That I should dream of types of misunderstanding in our closeness, since I have a negative incomprehension with what he's doing now. And if he's truly the Other, and on the Other, a friendship-love. Disatisfied, he can say to each what exactly? It's very odd about him. I wondered what he was telling each Other: on the one hand was blaming-mindedness and rejection. Comprehension at work in love or other, all the time.
***
Gilles Poem 102: for Utensils and Their Care by Sabrina Calle
Here I go, crying
two parts into one (and) O Gilles, now I need you
you scrape up
for example, the cravat bandage
with a square knot
"to prevent slipping." you look so beautiful but, why can't I see
it?
or epidemic. God Gilles, I think I get it
it should be long enough to tuck in I am picking lint off your chin
like an accent God Gilles, are you here with me? it's
what Artaud did
with French. I am blinking but
they function
as indexes
"merely a production" --you are. and it calls forth flows
& breaks
yes, we are
so sick
but isn't it true,
even if we go back
from the images
to the structure?
Uploaded on September 2, 2007
by pam ullman
A human being is part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness.
This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.
The true value of a human being is determined by the measure and the
sense in which they have obtained liberation from the self. We shall
require a substantially new manner of thinking if humanity is to
survive.
(Albert Einstein, 1954)
via susan elsagir
if wishes were wise in
if wishes outvolumed the sea
she might be able to toss
her net and you might be
with me yes you might be
by the light of the moon
through the leaves and
the bulk of the whale and
the call of the gull and
the wind in the hair of the trees
and we won't care if she sees
under our canopy of trees
of leaves of birds and bees
that sing from the eaves
we won't care if she sees
if she's there she's the
belle of the air the fairy
the darling who flies
from the limbs to the shins
to the generous parts of the
hearts of the parts she'll whisper
in our ears don't tell the dull
the bearers of hell our wishes
are twined from the heart
to the mind in our canopy of trees
I have been waiting
wet with happiness for you
to make love to me.
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