Saturday, July 08, 2006

spidery arms

spidery arms
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

it had been a very long time since i'd visited these trees. probably at least 20 years or so.

yea, a long time between visits for people. but for the trees, it must have been afternoon tea. it makes you look at things differently. i looked at the cross section of one sequoia that is around 2000+ years old. it is interesting to see milestones in terms of human history against its rings. while we were figuring out the printing press, the tree was in its adolescence...

yea, perspective...

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

to float

so you go on and on and on

that is the point, you don't lose the path
you don't lose the river,
it is the path of least resistance

are you floating?
are you drifting?

what if you are just a solar flare
one of those things that sparkle
in my eyes and in the half moment

in the universe
the dream of the
GUT scientist

drifts away...
melds away...

then you look back
then you see the eyes
the dark in midst of light

then the mirror breaks.

Monday, July 03, 2006

doubt and curiosity

doubt and curiosity
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

or is it curiosity and then, doubt?

by George Szirtes

"Your image destroys itself, remakes itself, and is never weary."
– Octavio Paz, The Prisoner

Impossible to look directly into
another’s eyes. Impossible to look
into your own. You read the dense book
of being like a document you flick through.

Eyes, even an inch apart, are blurs,
clouds, like the concept of yesterday
which has an entity you sometimes stray
into beyond the limits of his and hers,

The unknown: the roughest of the rough guides,
and all it says is: you’re here, you’d better make
the best of it. You entered by mistake
and so you’ll leave. It’s what the route map hides

and languages obscure, the magnetic pull
of all you ever see of the beautiful.


But I have seen the beautiful. I know
its contours and the rough guide it provides
is blissfully specific: the hand that rides
the ridge of the collarbone or moves along the brow,

the perfect form of momentary light
in this line or another. It’s what Blake
saw at the top of the stair, the terrible earthquake
at the root of the flesh we think of as delight.

It’s what you see when you shut your eyes and see,
the angel with the whip or a flaming sword
that burns your eyes down to the spinal cord,
the shit, blood, semen smell of mortality

you get used to because it follows you
everywhere and is both beautiful and true.