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Courtyard view, Bloomberg Tower: photo by Mark Lennihan, AP
ashes
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Tahoe Blue.
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One cracked pot…
image courtesy Adeline Teh
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courtesy the activist
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10 Plays
Rev Dr June Goudey
UCC Progressive Salvation
Progressive Salvation (audio)
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excerpts…
“I think I love him,” she says to her roommate, who she loves.
“Who? Your long-distance boyfriend?”
“No,” I say. “_____,”
The roommate squints. “Really? Why?”
Begin with interesting action, action that will draw the reader in, make them want to keep reading.
He put me on all fours. Took me from behind. “I think he’s rearranging my insides,” I would tell my roommate, the next morning. And, uncharacteristically, I didn’t mean that metaphorically.
“You know you have the perfect body, right?” he’d say, after. He took a magic marker and drew all over my skin. Across my ass: “_____’s Property.”
Places he fingered me: in the freshman dorm hallway, while talking to a group of friends. On the greyhound bus, beside lonely people. At a white kid baseball cap concert.
What he asked me to do, and I did: wear clothes that hid my body—“that’s for me to see.” Drink vodka straight. Not tell his girlfriend. Not tell my boyfriend. Not admit to his parents that I wasn’t Catholic. Meet him by the clock tower and tell no one.
What he asked me to do that I would not do: Stop talking to my ex, and childhood best friend—“you’re mine.” Stop saying “I love you” to my family and girlfriends—“that’s our saying.” Stop holding hands with male dancers while bowing in a line after a performance. Break the skin on my neck, and bleed.
What I did instead: Tried not to partner in dances with men. Let him bite my lips until they bled. Let him bite my neck until I had to wear turtlenecks for weeks.
Worse things that could have happened: He could have hurt me. He could have hurt himself. I could still be with him.”
This gift arrived June 20, 2012 from longreads. I’ve read it many times since. Hope you do too.
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Lisa Hannigan - Little Bird (Live in the Bing Lounge)
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Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
~Nizar Qabbani
“While true the poem brings value, tho’ the notebook alone is dry—
even dark lanterns hold kindness, while light without eye is blind,
and not so too a kiss more important than lips
which share two worlds to cry.”
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The first time
she being Brand -new;and you know consequently a little stiff i was careful of her and(having thoroughly oiled the universal joint tested my gas felt of her radiator made sure her springs were O. K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her up,slipped the clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she kicked what the hell)next minute i was back in neutral tried and again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my lev-er Right- oh and her gears being in A 1 shape passed from low through second-in-to-high like greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity [...]
~from doublee cummnings, she being brand new
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this silence is related to love.
“The solitary life, being silent, clears away the smoke-screen of words that man has laid down between his mind and things,” writes Thomas Merton in Thoughts in Solitude. “In solitude we remain face to face with the naked being of things. And yet we find that the nakedness of reality which we have feared, is neither a matter of terror nor for shame. It is clothed in the friendly communion of silence, and this silence is related to love. The world our words have attempted to classify, to control and even to despise (because they could not contain it) comes close to us, for silence teaches us to know reality by respecting it where words have defiled it.”
(with thanks for Tracy Cochran)
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Eternal lovers have no place, nor time
They are always in divine union
They are everywhere and no where
When I was myself, I couldn’t see you and
When you were inside me, I couldn’t see myself anymore
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71 Plays →
Oláh Kálmán Trio
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परिभ्रमसि किं व्यर्थं क्वचन चित्त विश्राम्यतां
स्वयं भवति यद्यथा तत्तथा नान्यथा।
अतीतमपि न स्मरन्नपि च भाव्यसङ्कल्पय-
न्नतर्कितगमनाननुभवस्व भोगानिह॥
English Translation of the quote:
Why do you wander, ‘O’ mind, rest somewhere. The natural course of thing to happen cannot be altered. It is bound to happen. Therefore enjoy the pleasures, whose arrival and departure cannot be ascertained, without remembering the past and without expecting the futureBharthrihari seems to suggest that we should neither worry about our past nor crave for the future. For a lay person past has changed, and the future is yet to come. It is futile to resist the present; why not welcome the present, in whatever way it presents itself before us..?
(Source: artpixie, via wile-e-coyote)
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Of course, we had storms
Twenty years of love, it’s mad love
A thousand times, you took your luggage
A thousand times, I left the nest
And each piece of furniture remembers
In this cradleless bedroom
The old storms’ fits
Nothing looked like anything
You had lost your liking for water
And I had lost mine for seduction
But my love
My sweet, my tender, my wonderful love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you
I, I know all your spells
You know all my charms
You kept me from trap to trap
I lost you from time to time
Of course, you took a few lovers
Time had to be spent
The body just has to exult
In the end, in the end
It took us much talent
To be old without being adults
But my love
My sweet, my tender, my wonderful love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you
Oh, my love
My sweet, my tender, my wonderful love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you
And the more time goes along with us
And the more time torments us
But is it not the worst trap
To live peacefully for lovers
Of course, you cry a little less early
I go off the deep end a little later
We protect less our mysteries
We let less chance do
We are wary of the waterflow
But it is still loving war
But my love
My sweet, my tender, my wonderful love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you
Oh, my love…
My sweet, my tender, my wonderful love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you
thank you, ofthedeity:
jacques Brel _ La Chanson des Vieux Amants (par PLbrettfan)