Friday, September 26, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
everything's alright?
i don't think so..........
isn't it??
art by cheeky poss (c)
look to the sky
the sea
and ever your heart
(the scapes that all are shy to talk about)
let us shine at the hiding sun
because
we know of love
(try not to worry
try not turn onto)
close your eyes
close your eyes
give all the
love you store
above all (mostly)
above all (mostly)
clutch hope close
sway the energy of night
to fortify your dream
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Hide and Seek, Imogen Heap
by Imogen Heap (Original and Live)
i only have the URL because the embedding is disabled at YouTube
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhVfeOAgmAw
Live versions by Imogen Heap--
Where are we
what the hell
is going on
the dust has only just
begun to fall
crop circles in the carpet
sinking, feeling
spin me round again
and rub my eyes
this can't be happening
when busy streets
amass with people would stop to hold
their heads heavy
hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
all those years
they were here first
oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before
the takeover
the sweeping insensitivity
of this still life
hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
(oh, you won't catch me around here)
blood and tears
they were here first
mmm what you say?
mm that you only meant well
well of course you did
mmm what you say
mm that it's all for the best
course it is
mmm what you say
mm it's just what we need
and you decided this
mmm what you say
what did she say?
ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no feeling, no I don't believe you
you don't care a bit
you don't care a bit
*
Sunday, May 11, 2008
a smile to remember , Charles Bukowski
Lots of Bukowski Poems, Letters & Postcards ~ 1968 to 1992 here..
a smile to remember
we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week
while raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.
my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!
why don't you ever smile?"
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled
Charles Bukowski
The morning walk from area 17 to the college of liberal arts, by Francisco Arcellana (1916-2002)
The morning walk from area 17 to the college of liberal arts
by Francisco Arcellana (1916-2002)
The faithful hounds, his ranging eyes, too early probe
the lonely morning macadam empty for the sight of her.
She comes upon the startled pavement in pa vane:
cool early morning doesn’t come until she comes.
The sun is clear, open only as her given eyes.
The faithful hounds, his eyes, are roused at her approach
and with her passage roil the air with flurried cries.
The faithful hounds, his eyes rise and follow after.
She doesn’t need to speak to say the silent speech.
She nods and her eyes smile: her cool unspeaking lips
soundlessly articulate the quiet words Good morning.
Indeed in deed it is morning: sure enough it is day.
She walks – she grinds beneath him even as she walks:
how his heart rocks with the singing of her hips
how his heart reels with the sighing of her feet.
The green sea burning parts before her plowing legs.
The clay path writhes in furious brown beneath her heels.
The subtle snake, recalled, uncoils and forward creeps
to meet her warm, unknowing eyes: confounder of the cold –
rout the slinker back into the brush, the original slime
leaving the clear, clean day unsullied for her sake,
the cooler early morning that her moving makes.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Ashes to Ashes, Faith No More
Ashes to Ashes
I want them to know it's me
It's on my head
I'll point the finger at me
It's on my head
Give it all to you
Then I'll be closer
Smiling with the mouth of the ocean
And I'll wave to you with the arms of the mountain
I'll see you
I will let you shout no more
It's on my head
I'll pick you up from the floor
It's on my head
I'll let you even the score
It's on my head
Give it all to you
Then I'll be closer
Smiling with the mouth of the ocean
And I'll wave to you with the arms of the mountain
I'll see you
Give the same to me, then I'll be closer, closer
Give the same to me, then I'll be closer, closer
Smiling, with the mouth of the ocean
And I'll wave to you, with the arms of the mountain
Give the same to me, then I'll be closer, closer
Give the same to me, then I'll be closer, closer
:)
Finale From Petite Mort - Jiri Kylian - Mozart
memories wishes dreams; i did ballet for 1 year when i was 5, then i had to leave, i don't know why, i just know that i didn't want to.. a long time later, i was blessed to watch my daughter do ballet for 5 years from 9- 14, and see all her ballet concerts.. her last one was among 20 dancers and she kept up completely.. i welled up, and was breathless and full of smiles at the end.. clap clap clap :) :) :)
sometimes, for a moment, i wish i had fulfilled my dream as a ballerina..
moving art
Friday, April 11, 2008
Pink, Whitstable, Kent, UK by Samantha G K
~Pink~
snapped in Whitstable, Kent
by Samantha G K
of Muse Mongers Motel Fame...
Click Image for Full View
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Alone With Everybody, Charles Bukowski
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
Charles Bukowski
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
The Mad Tea Party, by Mark Bryan
click image for full view
Magic Milk
+
8 drops of different coloured food dyes
+
a few drops of dishwashing liquid
=
a chemical dance
Matins, by Louise Glück
You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
to be weeding. You ought to know
I'm never weeding, on my knees, pulling
clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact
I'm looking for courage, for some evidence
my life will change, though
it takes forever, checking
each clump for the symbolic
leaf, and soon the summer is ending, already
the leaves turning, always the sick trees
going first, the dying turning
brilliant yellow, while a few dark birds perform
their curfew of music. You want to see my hands?
As empty now as at the first note.
Or was the point always
to continue without a sign?
Louise Glück
Mirror Mirror
Anyway, i want to live there.
