26 September 2011
Elegy with a Chimneysweep Falling Inside It
..."The soul rests its head in its hands & stares out
From its desk at the trash-littered schoolyard,
It stays where it was left.
When the window fills with pain, the soul bears witness,
But it doesn't write. Nor does it write home
Having no need to, having no home.
In this way, & in no other
Was the soul gradually replaced by the tens of thousands
Of things meant to represent it--
All of which proclaimed, or else lamented, its absence."...
by Larry Levis
23 September 2011
22 September 2011
"After two separate hearings and two appeals, the court refused to hear us out anymore. She could buy her own cigarettes, manage a checking account, and cash her disability checks at the bank. According to the judge, those three acts proved she was competent. We were done; we lost the case. This time we were on our own. There was only one thing for us to do. We had to go back to Cleveland and somehow convince our mother to sign the guardianship papers without the help of the court."
The Memory Palace, by Mira Bartok
21 September 2011
20 September 2011
19 September 2011
18 September 2011
17 September 2011
16 September 2011
15 September 2011
02 September 2011
wishing you a wonderful 3-day week-end, with an image from last summer. florida now has hurricanes sitting off both coasts.
i will be on a sentimental journey for the next two weeks, and will return with hundreds of new images, and maybe a story or two...
01 September 2011
"It is the morning of September 21, 1989. The dogs of Charleston have begun to whimper in collective terror while the cats of the city are languorous and unconcerned. The windows of the great houses wear plywood eyeglasses as folks gird their homes against a storm still four hundred miles away. The air in the city is ominous and strange and illuminated from the outside in. A pretty lady plays the harp in the window of a mansion on East Bay. When she finishes, she rises and curtsies to a gathering of swells that have gathered for a hurricane party. Hugo will crash this party with his terrible dark fist. By tomorrow, the people of South Carolina will know all there is to know about the rules of the storm. The rules are biased and hard.
In an emergency meeting at the News and Courier, the journalists receive a briefing from a grim-faced meteorologist who has tracked the storm for days. He refers to Hugo as "monstrous, lunatic, and unpredictable." ...
'Where do you think it will hit? What's your best guess?' a reporter asks.
'Sir, I think it's going to hit Charleston,' he replies. 'It's coming right at us.' "
South of Broad, by Pat Conroy
"Before you can blame an individual for their choices, you have to make sure they have the same choices as everyone else."
Bix , the fanatic cook.