in the eye of his spit

or the spit in his eye...

this afternoon, i had a rather interesting observation of behaviour. while sitting at a bench waiting for my bus to arrive, there was a 15-16 kid (male) sitting next to me dressed in passé below the crotch baggy jeans, three times oversized t-shirt, white sneakers, etc...but it wasn't that. really it was not the dumb uniform that got my attention.

it was his spitting behaviour. being someone who watches animal behaviour, i wondered how often he spits for no reason because quite clearly he was no archer fish. he was too fat anyway, would have sunk and got stuck in the mangrove roots but i digress. in a span of 90 seconds, he managed to spit over seven times in slightly different locations. it made a rough arc. now it wasn't like he was chewing tobacco or anything, it was just a thing to do. who knows, in his mind, it might even have been cool. anyway, i tried very hard to watch and not interact. i even turned up the volume of my ipod to some rather menacing tune by the black angels. and there were three moments where i looked at the thick saddle leather shoulder strap of my filson bag and visualized how nice of a cravat i could make around his neck to stop the disgusting behaviour...but i didn't. it was only a passing fantasy. something i wouldn't ever actually do [?] hahahah...

anyway, i looked up at the changing of the sky and decided that it was going to be a nice sunset. and there was no latent agression. i was just looking forward to getting home and having dinner...

heaven's cloth

heaven's cloth
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

something for Kelley...

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

–William Butler Yeats

pomodoro

sometimes i go looking for a new siren to occupy the vacant space of the warehouses of my heart. i'm looking for that new voice. the siren that will call the monsters back to sea, the muse that will make a song olympian and a verse that would make proust turn.

sometimes you have to think grand, not the grand of louis but the grand of elvis. and so sometimes you end up with gazpacho when you meant marinara; on either of the wrong end of the pomme d'amour spectrum.

oh well, sometimes it is just sauce...

(daphne) blue girl

(daphne) blue girl
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

she is blue today.

daphne blue, because that was the color of ink i reached for of the selection sitting on my desk in front of me.

today, she is simplified.

she needs no cross hatching or strands of hair delineated.
today she is a verse of a poem, distilled and condensed.

and the depths of her need go any deeper than her hue...

Crush in the Ghetto

I'm floating with the birds
I'm talking to the weeds
Look what you've done to me

I'm still dressed up from the night before
Silken hose and an old Parisian coat
And I feel like a queen at the bus stop on the street
Look what you've done to me

It's a beautiful morning in the ghetto
Finer than the day before
The ants are crawling over my pants as if to say
They know where the honey is

There's really old roses blooming in the ghetto
Birds of paradise are taller than me
The weeds grow high, the birds flicker by
Children are walking to school

In the midst of all of this profusion
The bus pulls up to take me back home
The bus driver looks like an African prince
The babies have tears in their eyes

And I feel like a queen
On this sunny city bus
Look what you've done to me

– Jolie Holland