Thursday, May 07, 2009

It is Impossible

"It is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone."
- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness, Part 1

Darker

Tabby Rides Her Bike Without Training Wheels

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter, by Ezra Pound

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse;
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden --
They hurt me.
I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fo-Sa.

Notes

* From Monroe, Harriet and Henderson, Alice Corbin (editors) (1917). The New Poetry: An Anthology, (Macmillan, New York).
* Various footnotes are added to this poem in various sources:
o Translated by Ezra Pound from the notes of the late Ernest Fenollosa, with the decipherings of Professors Mori and Araga.
o from the Chinese poem by Li Po (in The New Poetry: An Anthology (1917))
o By Rihaku (in Lustra of Ezra Pound, with Earlier Poems (1917))

Tarkovsky's Mirror Set to Arvo Pärt's Mirror in the Mirror

Monday, May 04, 2009

Knife Edged Shadows

Everything was broken and poisoned. The light was too bright but had no force. It leached into the deep shadows unenthusiastically, lending a spotted and diseased look to the battle ground between light and dark.

The roses no longer looked like an integrated whole but rather like a collection of random elements stuck together by the diseased light. Sounds were high pitched and painful to the ear.

Escape came only in sleep and slowly the idea of endless sleep became attractive. Poor brain chemistry inexorably translated into a simple series of stereotyped actions that would end the world. If perception caused reality and , though it deeply deserved destruction, destroying the universe was impractical then destroying the perceiver could have the same effect.

Suicide as mass destruction. Fall into a bottom-less pit of sleep and drag the world in afterwards.

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Hear My Voice - Gary Numan



Listen to my voice
And please try to understand
The one you call Messiah is a lie

You are not the plan
And your beginning to annoy
You are just a game and It has won

You will never see
The places promised by your faith
You will never know eternal peace

The God you love is gone
He lies broken by your shame
The thing that took His place already died

It will send Angels
Send black Angels for you

I am just a voice
That no-one else will hear
Only you are pure enough for truth

You must write 'The Book'
And then tear away belief
Only you can save the light of man

It will send Angels
Send black Angels for you

Followers