Whenever an order for a coffin came, Hazel went to tell the bees who was dead
One can own a mirror/does one then own the reflections/that may be seen in it?
Because my memory is undergoing a sea-change. Though I am certain I remember, I am no long sure what it is I remember nor, indeed, the reason I should remember it. Angela Carter
The Scented Fox
Its remoteness from the center of things is what is enduring about a Tale and it doesn't tell the truth about itself; it tells us what it dreams about.
For the spiral-walker there is no plain path, no up and down, no inside or outside. But there are strange returns and recognitions and never a conclusion. Fanny Howe
Each word itself is an arrangement/The story must exist in each word or it cannot go on
The imund book is the book without an author…
The Desires of Letters
Will the days watch us like chapters, will it be heading toward another season, is a story from a dream because I must relate it. I feel impelled to
and I want my family to both return and advance in time.
Roseate, Points of Gold
...into a roseate dawn that in order to construct itself progressively before me this unknown universe was drawn from silence and from night.
The Ivory Hour
We must for dear life make our own counter-realities
What is the weight of light?
Why should I abandon my ancient love/inherited from earlier births?
Lost Parkour Ps(alms)
The place we are going is the place/we were before we were born
Their heads touch the sky, their terror is awesome and their glance is death.
A mind that broods over guilty woes is like a scorpion girt by fire
The Scorpion is an uncommunicative creature, secret in his practices and disagreeable to deal with, so that his history, apart from anatomical detail, amounts to little or nothing Fabre
P R A C T I C E
You cannot fold a Flood—/And put it in a Drawer---/Because the Winds would find it out---/And tell your Cedar Floor--
Where else would you start to drown and suddenly be in a new body? Where else would you see the meagerness of your own expression as a corpse?
Where else might you be a torso, beating at your own window?
Kierkegaard says knowledge proceeds every act but surely there are acts that are not proceeded by knowledge.
Repetitions pass at the front door from summer to winter. Some slowly. Some quickly. Total strangers.
Never saw them before. Can't picture them now. Umbrellas—strange totalities—upheld, wheeling.
Does absence occupy time, is absence a new moment? Does it have its own sort of presence?
They threaten to throw into the air their own aura that becomes a ghost.
You Envelop Me
And I am walking in her garments
In rooms made of pollen and chance and noise
Towards the errors in humanism
Implicit is the hypothesis that all atoms of a given element behave in exactly the same way, irrespective of place and epoch.
I could no longer ignore the fact that chemistry itself, or at least that which we were being administered, did not answer my questions.
with tender purloined sunlight
at winter's lip
We are all semaphores for each other
Born parenthetical subjects of a myopic regime, we strived to represent an unspoken sensibility, a nascent and covert counterculture—not the part of the culture that catered to us, but the part that ached, hungry for the dismantling of the complacencies that made daily life bearable but false.
the tears are looking for a place to alight in, they aren't rain they're desolation
the tears are searching for you and will find you
The Book of Moments
Simply to scaffold being
in multiple frames of probability
then swag it in heavy drapes—
was that the timely choral work?
Or rather that the question of time
sat on the surface of language
and laughed when I tried to face it
and laughed when I tried to face it
If all the stories are placed on top of each other, everything ultimately becomes invisible. Then you have to choose.
Per Olov Enquist
I heard being-without-identity touch the landscape, make it speak, come alive. I heard the absence of assertion, the unreality, the potential for expansion, the not-self, the readiness to respond.
I am to imitate a mirror like that of water (but water is not a mirror and it is dangerous to think so).
Love is dead in us
if we forget
the virtues of an amulet
and quick surprise