Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Bill Cunningham on the 1973 Battle of Versailles Fashion Show

Certainly his whole life points to the same conclusion, but in case there was any doubt: a man who tears up at the thought of a saffron jersey dress, worn at the right moment, could only be a mystic.


Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Bird Cherry




You chosen sober sipper,
crowing sewer, be my ripper,
carry fresh cot-foiled kipper,
come inside

Oh laking glow, you stake and stave
patterned on this pitted cave,
grackle sitting in my grave,
be my guide

Cast your roots and purple gloomy
looted secrets, whisper bloomy
leaflet shells and flame chutes fuming,
flickered wide

Lantern light shaking side-shimmer,
gleam this raking sultan swimmer
touch my web, let outthreads glimmer
back in slides

Make my seams seem like a shadow
silhouetted silver plateau
seraphic word help me sing
that flashlight song upon your wing

It’s only healthy, only decent
to obsess when you have eaten
and drunk that strong wedding water—
in her hand, a band you bought her

Something she wouldn’t regret
throw a bridge, work up a sweat,
make your lungs a gusted harbor
beaten by your lusty ardor

Though the link may never catch
let it sink into your hatch

Disbeliever, quiet praire
some day there’s a bright bird cherry
and a girl that I may marry

There’s no gainsaying the morning
There’s a phosphorescent warning

There’s the borrowed antler beauty
and the branch that blooms right through me

When you’re close I’m nowhere near me
but your glowing always cheers me

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Happy Easter

Come you all: enter into the joy of your Lord. You the first and you the last, receive alike your reward; you rich and you poor, dance together; you sober and you weaklings, celebrate the day; you who have kept the fast and you who have not, rejoice today. The table is richly loaded: enjoy its royal banquet. The calf is a fatted one: let no one go away hungry. ...
He has despoiled Hades by going down into its kingdom, He has angered it by allowing it to taste of his flesh.
-John Chrysostom

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Asesino Lent-o: Four By The Growlers

These first three were recorded almost a year ago, when I kept catching the same cold.










And this one, recently recorded, I'm very happy with.





III
...
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

- from "East Coker" by TS Eliot