living proof of the deep-seated human need to make simple things complicated...

"and it's easy to fix in all kinds of ways-- some we'll wager that have never entered your mind."

--general foods kitchens

die die my darling

for halloween,
some epitaphs from here.


Jackie Gleason:
"And away we go!"

Werner Karl Heisenberg:
"He lies here, somewhere."
This is a pun on the famous Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, which implies that one may not know the position and momentum of a particle simultaneously.

Jeremiah Johnson:
"I told you I was sick."

Dorothy Parker:
"Excuse my dust"

Oscar Wilde:
"And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourners will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn."

William P. Rothwell:
(carved into a boulder) "This is on me."

what would i want for an epitaph?

perhaps "the most intelligent thing a starving man can do is fast"? (i can't remember who said this.)

or maybe this from calvino: "at night, putting your ear to the ground, you can sometimes hear a door slam."

what words would you want?

** photo from northstar gallery

happy to see you

click here to see a wonderful little video clip of camilla engman's dear dog morran. it's also wonderful to hear her soft laughing in the background.

"world was in the face of the beloved..."

but suddenly it poured out and was gone: world is outside, world cannot be grasped.








why didn't i, from the full beloved face
as i raised it to my lips, why didn't i drink
world, so near that i could almost taste it?






ah, i drank. insatiably i drank.











but i was filled up also, with too much
world, and, drinking,













i myself ran over." --rainer maria rilke

"among our articles of lazy hardware we recommend a faucet which stops dripping when no one is listening to it." --marcel duchamp

my new site meter is having an interesting effect on me. it's making me think of this space more in terms of a structure; an entity of rooms. when someone comes in the front "door," a shutter trips. this is the vestige of a visit, the only trace of the presence of one who otherwise leaves nothing behind. only a few leave comments. but i know from my own experience that not commenting on posts i've visited doesn't mean i don't find much to comment on. often i find myself still swilling around bits of phrases and ideas days after i've read them. but then it often seems too late to comment. it is the nature of the blog to be always rolling forward.

but who is looking at my blog? who reads my thoughts? this unknowing has the flavor of how an afterlife must feel. that is, if there were site meters in the afterlife.[this is a hypothetical afterlife i speak of.]

i think the blogosphere is akin to the winchester mystery house, with links as doorways into adjoining spaces going on forever. elaborate stairways leading to nothing; spacious rooms no one ever enters. what i love especially is that the furniture is as light as air.

venus from behind

then there's lauren.rabbit

who i stumbled upon this morning while browsing through flickr's 'man ray' pool, where they give suggestions on how to know if your work is "man ray enough." i loved the sound of that.
lauren.rabbit's home series on flickr is a perfect thing to come across in late october. it is an exploration of space at once saturated and stark; like peeking through a raveled place in a dress or curtain. these are spaces that fill you with both the desire to inhabit them and the keen sense that you recognize them from somewhere. their noctilucence is intoxicating.
for reasons inexplicable, the words ambergris and sconce come to mind. i am also reminded of the 'time passes' section of "to the lighthouse."

view it as a slideshow to get the full effect.