Archive for September 2008
mixed up
my favorite pairings (from the sart)
and for you, dearest readers,
a mix tape made specially for you.
enjoy.
spectacular
a nose knows
“Odors have a power of persuasion stronger than that of words, appearances, emotions, or will. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off, it enters into us like breath into our lungs, it fills us up, imbues us totally. There is no remedy for it.”
–patrick suskind, perfume
today’s inbox was loaded with goodies too good not to share
- anti-aging perfume? and rose as the scent of old age?
(it’s genius. i’m kicking myself “why didn’t i think of that?”) - stem cells from menstrual fluid the next anti-aging ingredient?
- mother’s milk in ben and jerry’s?
- frankincense activates channels in the brain to alleviate anxiety or depression. a new class of depression or anxiety drugs…for our nose?
rainy days and mondays
afternoon tea party
would you care for some rice milk with your tea?
headless and all alone
“Eccentricity is tolerable only in its first freshness. Cherished until it has gone stale, it becomes unbearably pathetic and at the same time alarming.”
by Maurice Druon as quoted in Scot D. Ryersson and Michael Orlando Yaccarino’s book Infinite Variety – The Life and Legend of the Marchesa Casati
(photo by man ray)
her cahiers
“Maternity makes us good, they say. Crap. My life is tied to his, it is dependent on his to the finest possible detail. If he dies, the beauty of the world dies and it will be darkness on my earth forever. In other words, if he dies, I die in the world . . . . There is no longer any difference between my fear of his death and death itself.”
~margeurite duras
(photo of duras from here)
year two
(from a poem for a daughter)
Why does a mother need a daughter?
Heart’s needle, hostage to fortune,
freedom’s end. Yet nothing’s more perfect
than that bleating, razor-shaped cry
that delivers a mother to her baby.
The bloodcord snaps that held
their sphere together. The child,
tiny and alone, creates the mother.
A woman’s life is her own
until it is taken away
by a first particular cry.
Then she is not alone
but part of the premises
of everything there is:
a time, a tribe, a war.
When we belong to the world
we become what we are.
(Anne Stevenson Poems 1955 – 2005)
“i have only ever written about myself”
“Saved, rescued, fished-up, half-drowned, out of the deep dark river, dry clothes, hair shampooed and set. Nobody would know I had ever been in it . Except, or course, that there always remains something. Yes, there always remains something.”
highlighted during a jfk to phoenix flight.
(good morning, midnight by jean rhys)
postings to resume shortly.
we all fall down
after a desert monsoon rain.
