be water, my friend.
The oblique rays of the setting sun: One of Dostoyevsky’s favourite and constantly recurring images.
Long oblique rays of the setting sun-that is the symbol of quiet dying, the going over to the other world.
Footprints
I searched for metric meanings
along the grinding beach,
but despite my mystic leanings
they were always out of reach.
I dug for deeper answers
beneath the padded sands,
but all I found were dancers
with seaweed on their hands.
Though I boned up on the history,
and strove to keep the score,
the sea remained a mystery
and I remained ashore.
Still I’d seek to know the essence
of what I am today,
for the proof of my pale presence
will soon be washed away,
and the seedbed of my questions
will be covered by the sea,
where my bones shall find a rest home
when I’m no longer me.
Though I remember all the faces
and record what I have seen
the sea will wash away the traces
as though they’d never been.
For the sea’s here to remind us
as we walk upon the land
that all we leave behind us
are footprints in the sand.
And footprints in the sand, it’s said,
however deep and wide,
will not keep their distinctive tread
beyond the next high tide.
We pay ourselves such compliments
yet barely undesrstand
the greatest of our monuments
are footprints in the sand.
- Matt Harvey, “Where Earwigs Dare”
A SHEET OF PAPER
No coming, no going,
No After, no before.
I hold you close,
I release you to be free;
I am in you
And you are in me.
—Thich Nhat Hanh - “No Death, No Fear”
projections by jenny holzer in tongeren (2004)
(Source: jacvanek, via ellephanta)
All life in all societies where modern conditions of production reign announces itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles. All that was directly lived has moved away into a representation. The images which have detached themselves from each aspect of life dissolve in a common flow, where the unity of this life can no longer be re-established.
—Guy Debord - Society of the Spectacle
Now all my hours are trances;
And all my nightly dreams
Are where the dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams,
In what ethereal dances,
By what Italian streams.
—EDGAR ALLAN POE, “The Assignation”
Am I the only one that thinks Gil Scott-Heron is amazing?! R.I.P
