And my ceilings went on forever. You could lose your head and kite. You could fall in love with distance and grow lonely at the same time.
I could never be divided. I wanted you wholly. I wanted to lick your open spaces, your paranoia, and the damp salt behind each knee.
Come, let me charm you in my whisper gallery where I can hear you breathe from the other side of the moon and when you moan, each window moans too. My sounds once delighted - triangle, pentagon, icosahedron, ding-dong, I miss you.
The front door, so difficult to open, meant please and stay, love insulating our private balloon.
from Fields, Ribbons, Folds: Somatic Landscapes for Zaha Hadid by Hadara bar-Nada
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.
from And our faces, my heart, brief as photos by John Berger
Friday, September 10, 2010
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
sometimes i'm not very good... so here are some little things that need mending. with any luck this will at least stop me sleeping in til the afternoon as often as i would like to.
i'd love to wake up by 8.30am at the very latest. no matter what day of the week it is. except for very occasional Sunday sleep-ins. if i'm sitting in front of my university work, i'll get started. and begin limiting my coffee drinking, from several, to five cups a day. with less sugar. one teaspoon in one cup per day. i will make an effort to stop eating like a boy... then i can have one sweet treat a day.
that's my sewing. all mended and neatly folded x
goodbye winter. i will miss your rain on my tongue. your biting wind in my face. and the way the slightest glance of the sun makes me smile. i will miss the bare trees and my cold hands tucked inside his warm woollen pockets.
i will miss you. but... i want this.
i want the dry cracked earth. i want burning feet as i run down to the water. i want to feel the sun tickling my skin. sunhats. and sticky fingers from my dripping iceblock. and to be so thirsty that i can't think of anything else.