Saturday, January 22, 2011
"She has been a famous actress, I recognize her. The debris of a great star. Narrow lips. The face of a dedicated drinker. She constantly piles up her hair with her hands and then lets it fall. She laughs, but there is no sound. It’s all in silence—she is made out of yesterdays."
"A Sport and a Pastime," James Salter
[Damen Avenue above Haddon Street]
Sunday, January 16, 2011
There comes a time when time is not enough:
a hand takes hold or a hand lets go; cells swarm,
cease; high and cryless a white bird blazes beyond itself, to be itself, burning unconsumed.
"The Reservoir," Christian Wiman
[Milwaukee Avenue below Wood Street]
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices
"Howl," Allen Ginsberg
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't:blow death to was)
—all nothing's only our hugest home;
the most who die,the more we live
"what if a much of a which of a wind," ee cummings
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
He's a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He's not to be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must finally be paid to such a person.
"Death of a Salesman," Arthur Miller
[Damen Avenue above Haddon Street; Ukrainian Village]
Monday, January 3, 2011
A postcard to Jessica. One to Tina and Graham. One to Sal and Sylvie. Postcards from the imaginary into the impossible real. I don't know why I didn't visit Tina and Graham in London, but I will the next time I'm there. I will not go to Belgrade. At least I don't think so. I remember my father saying, like a film-noir private eye, Don't think you can change a man. Buda it turns out might mean something like a chimney. But Pest means nothing, certainly not stove. Buda was Attila the Hun's brother. I wonder if they got along.
"Motion Sickness," Lynne Tillman
[Damen Avenue below Division Street]
Sunday, January 2, 2011
My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.
If there's no hatred in a mind
Assault and battery of the wind
Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
"A Prayer for My Daughter," William Butler Yeats
[North of Chicago Avenue, east of Damen Avenue]
- but there is no sound
- a time when time is not enough
- fuckup shoes
- not the story of the wreck
- food mart
- the only thing
- woke on a sudden manhattan
- this is 606
- the show costs nothing
- what if a much of a which of a wind
- some secret amplitude in this orderly space
- attention must be paid
- postcards from the imaginary into the impossible r...
- the sort of beauty that i have approved
- apt for rent
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