all my dreams come true...

dark roasted blend blog

Empathy

WI-FI SM
Feel the global pain.

Explain Either Or

How did this?
Turn into this?

how i define angels...

from Walter Benjamin's ninth thesis from the essay "Theses on the Philosophy of History":

"A Klee painting named ‘Angelus Novus’ shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing in from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such a violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress."

this is a poem

by kenneth patchen





















life is what we define it to be, after all.

shinzi katoh

this looks like a nice world

Landscaping and Poetry : by Joshua Kline

Here is something I made.
It is called landscaping and Poetry

When genius reverses itself,
and retracts

when perfection
stops in its tracks
and says,
"ha ha"
and dances a dance

you listen

Enlightening

I was asked to post things I find enlightening.
This post may count, it may not.

I believe
Enlightenment is about seeing
seeing good and evil
seeing why people go wrong
reading beyond the words of life
beyond the context
into its essence

This video is posted by a business
for dating women

Titled:
"A Virgin Sleeps With 16 Women!!"

and literally
this poor dude describes seducing a lesbian
(how much more seduction could a lump need?)

This may not seem enlightening
but to me it is

it shows how far we go to feed ourselves
nonsense
to build our egos

Bla bla bla bla bla, bla bla, bla bla bla bla bla bla. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla.

Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla?



Bla bla bla bla bla, bla, bla, bla bla bla bla. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla (bla bla bla bla bla) bla bla bla bla bla.


I thought this was funny.
From grumpy gamer

La Blogotheque

Sigur Ros - Við spilum endalaust - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

very creative videos

An Audio Response

richard avedon's photography

mr. avedon has my utter admiration.

mary oliver, my love

When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my lief
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

--from New Poems, 1991-1992

the inspiration for this blog

loveliness in montreal - la vie est un volcan de lumiere

Forugh Farrokhzad

Commit flight to memory

For the bird is mortal.

-- the lines from "I'm depressed" that grabbed me while listening to an NPR program on the culture of poetry in persia. a contemporary iranian poet threw them out while discussing persia's poetic tradition...and i was like, "oh, woah woah woah! backup." hit rewind several times and then searched through numerous possible spellings of forugh's name before landing on this monumental site. i fell in love. here is one of my hearts:

Another Birth
Persian : Tavalodi Digar
Audio Files: Tavalodi Digar

My whole being is a dark chant
which will carry you
perpetuating you
to the dawn of eternal growths and blossoming
in this chant I sighed you sighed
in this chant
I grafted you to the tree to the water to the fire.

Life is perhaps
a long street through which a woman holding
a basket passes every day

Life is perhaps
a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch
life is perhaps a child returning home from school.

Life is perhaps lighting up a cigarette
in the narcotic repose between two love-makings
or the absent gaze of a passerby
who takes off his hat to another passerby
with a meaningless smile and a good morning .

Life is perhaps that enclosed moment
when my gaze destroys itself in the pupil of your eyes
and it is in the feeling
which I will put into the Moon's impression
and the Night's perception.

In a room as big as loneliness
my heart
which is as big as love
looks at the simple pretexts of its happiness
at the beautiful decay of flowers in the vase
at the sapling you planted in our garden
and the song of canaries
which sing to the size of a window.

Ah
this is my lot
this is my lot
my lot is
a sky which is taken away at the drop of a curtain
my lot is going down a flight of disused stairs
a regain something amid putrefaction and nostalgia
my lot is a sad promenade in the garden of memories
and dying in the grief of a voice which tells me
I love
your hands.

I will plant my hands in the garden
I will grow I know I know I know
and swallows will lay eggs
in the hollow of my ink-stained hands.

I shall wear
a pair of twin cherries as ear-rings
and I shall put dahlia petals on my finger-nails
there is an alley
where the boys who were in love with me
still loiter with the same unkempt hair
thin necks and bony legs
and think of the innocent smiles of a little girl
who was blown away by the wind one night.

There is an alley
which my heart has stolen
from the streets of my childhood.

The journey of a form along the line of time
inseminating the line of time with the form
a form conscious of an image
coming back from a feast in a mirror

And it is in this way
that someone dies
and someone lives on.

No fisherman shall ever find a pearl in a small brook
which empties into a pool.

I know a sad little fairy
who lives in an ocean
and ever so softly
plays her heart into a magic flute
a sad little fairy
who dies with one kiss each night
and is reborn with one kiss each dawn.

Karim Emami Az Past O Bolande Targomeh Page 19-21

if you decide to read more, pass on sin - crappy translations.

Mattias Inks Blog