February 14, 2009
This image and song seem to fit the day.
Powder Keg by Pete Krebs:
They sound and look like the way I felt as I took a bikeride through thickly falling snowflakes and then had someone cut off all my hair.
February 10, 2009
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars, and in the middle, you see the blue center-light pop, and everybody goes “ahh.”
(jack kerouac/on the road)
February 6, 2009
and i. what dreams had i suspended
above our short order lives
when death showered you with bells.
call her back for me
bells. call back this memory
still fresh with cactus pain.
from “kwa mama zetu waliotuzaa”
I’m finding that I have distinct and specific attatchments to some certain images. Like the effects of sunlight captured well in a photograph. Or the image of a bell ringing through the words of a poem. Or anything that looks or sounds like peace. And I only noticed these motifs because they stare at me through the picture and word images I save so I can return to them later.
I’ve jotted down my thoughts with little consistency and some organization for most of my life. I return to read the books I’ve filled with my words occasionally, and in them I discover motifs to my life that I never would have discovered had I not written them down. It’s a secret value of words that can only be found when pieces of life become a book or poem.