oh the unspeakable things.

•November 11, 2010 • 1 Comment

Think of a place I would go,

I’m daydreamin’,

Where the sycamore grow,

I’m daydreamin’,

And oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Where the air was so clear,

Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Anywhere but here.


Oh now look to the east,

Great mountains remember me,

Oh I wound around you for miles,

I sat down right there and stretched my bones.

And oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

You would see, too.


Oh the unspeakable things,

It’s land I can see for miles,

With only the wind whispering,

Land I can see for miles,

With only the wind whispering,

Oh land I can see for miles,

With only the wind whispering,

Oh I’d run as fast as I can

Land I can see for miles

Oh I’m searching,


With only the wind whispering,

Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

You would see, too.


Oh the unspeakable things,

Oh the unspeakable things,

Oh the unspeakable things,

Oh the unspeakable things.

Dark Dark Dark – Daydreaming.

the ultimate truth.

•November 11, 2010 • Leave a Comment

“We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies—all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes.”

Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception & Heaven and Hell, (Harper, 1954) at pp.12-13.

 

**


May the bridges I burn light the way.

•November 4, 2010 • Leave a Comment

shashank kumar

•October 31, 2010 • 1 Comment

is an artist at heart. and detests the decay of lying.

All the lonely people.

•April 29, 2010 • Leave a Comment

Acquainted with the Night

Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain – and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night

Funeral Blues

W. H. Auden

[…]

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can come to any good.

And this small wheel in the grand scheme of things creaks again.

Thanks to the Penguin Book of the Twentieth Century in Poetry (Viking, 1999) for this.

euro.

•October 17, 2008 • Leave a Comment

The boy hurriedly climbed down the stairs, taking two at once. He then glided across the wooden floor. Half way through, he stumbled, somersaulted, spilled his pint of beer, caught it, caught himself, apologized to the recpetionist and pulled the glass door open to feel the Viennese winter. And that first sigh you see when you exhale in the winters. Life seemed to come in aphoristic drops dancing to Thelonious Sphere Monk.

Dancing to Sphere Monk, seeing Adolf and Benito poke Josef with a stick.

content.

•October 7, 2008 • Leave a Comment

reading Crome Yellow after a trip to the Parvati Valley.

Later. Way later.