28 October 2008

souvenez-vous: au-dessous des mers de nuages... c'est l'éternité

"Voici que, brusquement, ce monde calme, si uni, si simple, que l'on découvre quand on émerge des nuages, prenait pour moi une valeur inconnue. Cette douceur devenait un piège. J'imaginais cet immense piège blanc étalé, là, sous mes pieds. Au-dessous ne régnaient, comme on eût pu le croire, ni l'agitation des hommes, ni le tumulte, ni le vivant charroi des villes, mais un silence plus absolu encore, une paix plus définitive. Cette glu blanche devenait pour moi la frontière entre le réel et l'irréel, entre le connu et l'inconnaissable. Et je devinais déjà qu'un spectacle n'a point de sens, sinon à travers une culture, une civilisation, un métier. Les montagnards connaissaient aussi les mers de nuages. Ils n'y découvraient cependant pas ce rideau fabuleux."

-antoine de saint éxupery, Terre des hommes

26 October 2008

last week,



the sky did this.

a confused pockmark indicating the collision of restless air masses. it has taken me some days to catch up, but now i feel it. this. the sky, restless and pocked.

23 October 2008

There are some mornings when the sky


looks like a road.


*primary dapples in GIMP,
pieced together during holes in scholastic assiduity.
(a clumsy beginning with high aspirations)

16 October 2008

already said my farewells

(click above for song)

12 October 2008

someone's craving french caramel


in the years past, i have sat by this window, wishing it were better insulated. now i edge my chair as close to its dark pane as possible, wishing for some cool breath from the other side. it is hot. i do not like hot. i'm not sure i really like being cold, either. but it's the hot memories that burn through my tissue paper patience. it's the hot ones that send me into a frenzied search for the fast forward button. thus i crave the cold. why winter is eerily comforting. why i refused to drink hot tea on the warmest of windbitten irish afternoons. that is why norway, why iceland. similar to my spout in paris. i didn't know the city. i didn't know the swells or the stills, the grime or graffiti, the jerk and rattle on line 6, or 11. the brown one. (i could never remember the numbers) that's why, once i found myself there, i couldn't see the place as a student sees it. i couldn't see it anywhere because i still wasn't there. paris was an idea of else. like winter. like cold, iceland and norway. where i want to be now.
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