the ugly earring

ug‧ly [uhg-lee] offensive to the sense of beauty; displeasing in appearance

Month: July, 2011

norwegian wood

“The heights charm us, but the steps do not; with the mountain in our view we love to walk the plains.”

~ Goethe

SCA Ulven wood platforms: here

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echoes

once i was a soldier
and i fought on foreign sands for you
once i was a hunter
and i brought home fresh meat for you

echoes in the earphones: once i was
by tim buckley
(missing photo credit – any ideas?)

one flower

One flower
on the cliffside
Nodding at the canyon

(poem: one flower by jack kerouac)
(photo via little lamb’s tuesday parade)
(tuesday’s song – this version of i woke up  tim buckley the show)

mutual genetic cooperation

Thank you for these tiny
particles of ocean salt,
pearl-necklace viruses,
winged protozoans:
for the infinite,
intricate shapes
of submicroscopic
living things.

For algae spores
and fungus spores,
bonded by vital
mutual genetic cooperation,
spreading their
inseparable lives
from equator to pole.

My hand, my arm,
make sweeping circles.
Dust climbs the ladder of light.
For this infernal, endless chore,
for these eternal seeds of rain:
Thank you. For dust.

dusting by marilyn nelson

a song for chores: the sky is burning.

photo: nomadicway’s archive
by way of little lamb

the shells grew within

The question was this: Why are seashells often found far from the sea, sometimes embedded in solid rock at the tops of mountains? The ancient Greeks had known and written about these seashells. Medieval theologians had noticed them in the building stones of their cathedrals. Miners and quarrymen found them, as did farmers, shepherds, and travelers. Even the Pope in Rome must have noticed them and wondered, because they littered the slopes of Vatican Hill.

Today we think it natural to say that the seashells were left by a sea that once covered the land. This, in fact, was the explanation offered by the ancient Greeks. The very earliest of the Greek philosophers, the so-called Pre-Socratics, made it the keystone of their various theories of the world, six centuries before Christ. Aristotle continued the tradition, writing that the waxing and waning of the seas were part of the world’s “vital process.” The land naturally experienced many inundations over the course of time.

Yet most educated people of Steno’s time rejected this idea. They thought instead that the shells grew within the Earth. Despite all appearances, the seashells were not actually seashells at all. No clams had ever lived inside the fossil clam shells; no seas had ever covered the mountains.

photo: jf and son via hntr gthrr
text from: the seashell on the mountaintop by alan cutler

an evening haboob

From the living room window, we watched
the storm, and the palms bent
in lust of rain.

Instead, sand and ash came,
an apocalyptic cloud
(as they called it).

The house teetered,
the pantry door swung open.

They remained near me
as you sat in candlelight,
strumming – the howling wind.
Dust fell on the unwashed bowls
and into the simmering sauce.

I tasted it.

This is how it would appear
the next morning:

Little M would have a mark
on her back.  And our fingerprints,
having written the moment
in the dust, would wipe
the counters clean.

image:
from Joy Walker’s exhibition Chanced at MKG127, Toronto.
via: stopping off place

one of the dripping

“What has happened, I think, is that, since there is a natural selection among artists as among sea creatures, I am one of the dripping and daydreaming serpents who roared at his tidal death.”

-James Wright in a Letter to Donald Hall, July 25, 1958, from “Wild Perfection: The Selected Letters of James Wright”

text from here

what you get is to be changed.

“… this is freedom. This is the force of faith. Nobody gets what they want. Never again are you the same. The longing is to be pure. What you get is to be changed. More and more by each glistening minute, through which infinity threads itself, also oblivion, of course, the aftershocks of something at sea. Here, hands full of sand, letting it sift through in the wind, I look in and say take this, this is what I have saved, take this, hurry. And if I listen now? Listen, I was not saying anything. It was only something I did. I could not choose words. I am free to go. I cannot of course come back. Not to this. Never. It is a ghost posed on my lips. Here: never.”

— Jorie Graham, from “Prayer” via proustitute

thank you beautiful v.

image: species by the thousand via the shiny squirrel

god’s eye: a great DIY

and this from the wiki page:
Hung in a child’s hair or on the walls of homes, or tied to the ends of arrows, the sikuli’s main purpose is to ensure children a long and healthy life.When a child is born, the central eye is woven by the father. Then one eye is added for every year of the child’s life until the youngster reaches the age of five. The resulting design in the shape of a cross symbolizes the four elements of earth, air, fire and water. The Ojo de Dios is the most well known symbol. The Indians believe the design of the eye has the power to heal and to protect. The Ojo de Dios is hung on the wall and used in ceremonies and prayer.

The colours used have different meanings: red – life itself; yellow – sun moon and stars; blue – sky and water; brown – soil; green – vegetation; black – death.

a necklace of black agate

“Akhmatova often sat smoking a cigarette at a side table, dressed in a tight skirt, with a scarf round her shoulders and a necklace of black agate. She was always surrounded by a group of admirers. Alexander Blok, the great poet of the preceding generation, found Akhmatova’s beauty strangely terrifying. Mandelstam described her as ‘a black angel’ with the mark of God upon her.”

-Elaine Feinstein, Anna of All the Russias: A Life of Anna Akhmatova

photo: here

text from the awesome: hunter’s heart