Thursday, December 6, 2007

Iron & Wine - Lion's Mane

run like a race for family
when you hear like you're alone
the rusty gears of morning
and faceless, busy phones
we gladly run in circles
but the shape we meant to make is gone

and love is a tired symphony
you hum when you're awake
and love is a crying baby
mama warned you not to shake
and love's the best sensation
hiding in the lion's mane

so i'll clear the road, the gravel
and the thornbush in your path
that burns a scented oil
that i'll drip into your bath
the water's there to warm you
and the earth is warmer when you laugh

and love is the scene i render
when you catch me wide awake
and love is the dream you enter
though i shake and shake and shake you
and love's the best endeavor
waiting in the lion's mane

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Friday, November 30, 2007

Two by Stevens


The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur—

There was the cat slopping its milk all day,
Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk
And August the most peaceful month.

To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
Without that monument of cat,
The cat forgotten on the moon;

And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;

Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself;
And east rushes west and west rushes down,
No matter. The grass is full

And full of yourself. The trees around are for you,
The whole of the wideness of night is for you,
A self that touches all edges,

You become a self that fills the four corners of night.
The red cat hides away in the fur-light
And there you are humped high, humped up,

You are humped higher and higher, black as stone—
You sit with your head like a carving in space
And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.


Now it is September and the web is woven.
The web is woven and you have to wear it.

The winter is made and you have to bear it,
The winter web, the winter woven, wind and wind,

For all the thoughts of summer that go with it
In the mind, pupa of straw, moppet of rags.

It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked
And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.

It is all that you are, the final dwarf of you,
That is woven and woven and waiting to be worn,

Neither as mask nor as garment but as a being,
Torn from insipid summer, for the mirror of cold,

Sitting beside your lamp, there citron to nibble
And coffee dribble ... Frost is in the stubble.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Parlors of Heaven

Star Cluster Pismis 24, from the Hubble Space Telescope

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.

--Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

Kunstformen der Natur

One of many extraordinary pages from this wonderful online book. Permanent link at right.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Seasonal Squid

Click the pic to see more views of the 'Squidtivity'. The shepherd is my favourite.

Beautifully Creeped-Out Scenarios

William Schaff
check out his other stuffs there too
always as beautiful as the saddest rainstorm

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Extreme Origami

Monday, November 19, 2007

The Innocence Mission continues

The Innocence Mission

current obsessions and multimedia blogging experiments

download lovely track 'Brave'

see lovely video 'Bright as Yellow'

Friday, November 16, 2007

Fern Hill

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Effervescing Elephant

Monday, November 12, 2007

A Purring Lion

Yesterday, because I was a lion
I was purring a tune in the jungle
As all the stars began to fall
All together.
And my body was burnt all over
Every time I trod on the moonlight.
And the skin was scraped
From the tip of my nose
And my life was charred with love.
My mane gave itself to the wind
And left me with no idea of where to go --
To the past, to the future, or to death
Nor will my tail and ears ever come back to me.

Today on my way from school
I walked straight through the front of the mirror shop.
That's why I remember nothing but this:
Because I left my tweezers in the jungle,
I will never be able to recover
Anything but the words of my purring.

-- Kazuko Shiraishi

Starting from a Dream

Let us build of our dreams something so grandly absurd, so solid and so silly...