December 2011
26 posts
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Oh help. Where do these phantom sadnesses come from? Now I’m drunk in bed and all alone and lost. And what words could possibly suffice until the rain of sadness has passed?
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“Somewhere the flower of farewell is blooming.
Endlessly it yields its pollen,...”
– Rainer Maria Rilke from A Year With Rilke, Dec 31
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2011
Winter of deer and foxes, fog and snow, frozen-in-time hours by the window to the woods. The Secret History, new work, New York.
Spring of loss. First blossoms and a bitter flight across the Pacific. Lonely, nervous weeks in Australia. Rainbows, crystals, fish&chips, and books in bed.
Summer of storms, of the Virginian heat, of wind whipping through hair. Lightning, thunder, crash-pangs of...
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What Are You Doing New Years Eve? by Zooey...
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“For the sake of one line of poetry, one must see many cities, people, and...”
– Rainer Maria Rilke, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge
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Cleaning out old things and making space for the new, I was caught off-guard by the heartache of it. Grieving over lost times, people, dreams. All gone forever. Forever.
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One thing I like about Christmas Eve is that everybody’s got a little bit of glitter on their face.
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Download 'A History of Lost Things' here. →
inherwar: The most precious little zine. Truly.
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I visited an artist friend of mine in the country where the stars are clear and bright. Silhouettes of two horses stood against the moonlight and a perfect appearance of the Orion constellation. I sat by the lake, a little rosy from wine, watching the Geminids streak across the sky. “Tell me something,” I say.
“Life’s not as confusing as people second think,” my...
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You’ll never guess what happened on my way home today: a train hit a tractor-trailer and everyone was okay. What a world.
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This is the way things are now. I come home after dark and measure time in varietals of wine. We’re coming to the end of the shiraz era now: “dark cherry and black current warmed with hints of vanilla, liquorice and oak. [And listen to this] A rich, full finish.” Fancy that.
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Feeling a bit heartsick. Emotional seasickness from the rocking.
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“Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in...”
– Jeffrey Eugenides
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The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows: degrassé →
adj. entranced and unsettled by the vastness of the universe, experienced in a jolt of recognition that the night sky is not just a wallpaper but a deeply foreign ocean whose currents are steadily carrying off all other castaways, who share our predicament but are already well out of earshot—worlds and stars who would’ve been lost entirely except for the scrap of light they were able to fling...
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