Archive for December 2007
yes, i am.
“are you my mother?” said the baby bird.
Sleep in the Mojave Desert
Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry.
And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly
On the mind’s eye erecting a line
Of poplars in the middle distance, the only
Object beside the mad, straight road
One can remember men and houses by.
A cool wind should inhabit these leaves
And a dew collect on them, dearer than money,
In the blue hour before sunup.
Yet they recede, untouchable as tomorrow,
Or those glittery fictions of spilt water
That glide ahead of the very thirsty.
In the crevice of an extremely small shadow
And the toad guarding his heart’s droplet.
The desert is white as a blind man’s eye,
Comfortless as salt. Snake and bird
Doze behind the old maskss of fury.
We swelter like firedogs in the wind.
The sun puts its cinder out. Where we lie
The heat-cracked crickets congregate
In their black armorplate and cry.
The day-moon lights up like a sorry mother,
And the crickets come creeping into our hair
To fiddle the short night away.
–sylvia plath
the trend continues…
hello bébé
plus 
equals
it’s a start!
Caruso and a White Turban
Giuseppe De Luca, Frieda Hempel, Enrico Caruso and Léon Rothier in Bizet’s opera “Les Pêcheurs de Perles.”
A Caruso revival would destroy pop culture.
ode to the departed tree
Dear thief who stole my eucalyptus tree from our front porch,
In your possession is a tree that has been resurrected from near death. Its young trunk and branches, which probably sits in your front yard, took almost two years to mature.
A relocation wilted her leafy coat and then a desert summer toasted her fragrant leaves and branches. But, i coaxed her, told her to hang on, and watered her wounds in the early morning. When the hot weather faded, she gave birth to fragrant new branches. In the early A.M. I’d greet her with a rub of her petals and young branches, praising her on her growth and enjoying the lovely perfume she shared when I filled her pot with fresh water.
How proud she stood enduring the cruel summer that recently passed!
The day before you stole her, I touched her rather gently, spoke to her softly and fixed her drooping crown. I apologized for not seeing her as often as before; told her she was still lovely and her perfume was my favorite smell.
Please take care of her. Plant her softly in the earth; she is still a new mother and has not yet grown out of her wounds.
Sincerely,
A gardener in mourning, as she listens to Quix*o*tic’s sitting in the park .
feather and tunic
thanks to wendy b’s post, i came across a picture i adored eons ago. it is the same one that resulted in an extensive hunt through los angeles and part of phoenix for a man tunic.
here it is:
Patrick Lichfield’s photograph of Talitha Getty
we never found the tunic, so if you know where one can be found…
sidenote:
another rainy day in phoenix, and a random offering from the bird gods.
look what appeared on my shoe just minutes ago:
i really have no idea how it got there.
“Wild, impetuous, amoral…”
“All I need is an onion, a bit of bread, and a bottle of red wine. And I will always find somebody to offer me that.”
kiki de montparnasse (as seen by man ray)
random glee
thanks to this posting i was introduced to the lady amanda harlech and then came across this article. how i heart schizophrenic writers throwing kudos and insults to galliano’s ex-muse!
Somehow this underpaid writer who writes about antioxidants and natural health; and reads “go, dog go” to little bella is slightly envious as she sees another moth hole in her vintage sweater.
“galliano’s ex-muse ?!”
****
dear john,
this season we embraced our grey hair and the turban squash, too.
xoxo
did you know the ue is a mind reader? next year’s trend prediciton: folktronica, tunng, and seashells.
