The gentle humming of the music made the leaves twitch, made the trees bow lower towards the still waters of the swamp, as if they could glean more meaning from the tune by peering at their own reflections.
Posts Tagged ‘ poetry/ lit ’
sub-entry 7> episode 6.25 or 5.02\/\/on hearts and versions of self
Every city, just like every object, has a heart – a core where the energy that moves it, that keeps it from unraveling out into the ether, originates. This energy flows out from the heart through all different manner of arteries, canals and pathways, feeding into the other areas of the city.
sub-entry 6> episode 4, 5 & 6\/\/on the things that draw us to them
It's strange what draws us, what pulls us like the tide. We think we have life, but life has us – we're merely an extension of her, like a little toe or a loose strand of hair...
sub-entry 4> episode 27.21\/\/on the destination of roads
Decatur Street. Some think that it starts amidst all the hotels and street cars of Canal Street, but this is just a clever deception of the street’s own doing, involving numbers and the way that the human mind is addicted to ordering them.
sub-entry 3> episode 3.1415 \/\/ on the transitory nature of impermanence
<<Previously… “In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time.” So said Leonardo da Vinci. Didn’t he invent helicopters or something?>> theme of the week: “You can’t step in the same river twice.” New Orleans, tomorrow night. What kind of day leaves someone like me standing on one of the stone benches rimming the fountain of Spanish Plaza, looking out at the Mississippi with my arms and hands covered in black, cracked candle wax and strange, golden symbols painted onto my neck and forehead? Maybe if the episodes hadn’t gotten so shifted around then this would all make sense. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like a puzzle box full of a thousand pieces from a thousand different puzzles. My eyes burned from not sleeping for days, and the river seemed to be glowing there in the dark. I turned and looked into the fountain, pulling my flask from the inside pocket of my jacket. Not many know that the water gushing from that fountain is piped in from a special reservoir underneath the docks by the ferry, and even fewer people know that the water is trasported by
sub-entry 2> episode 9.25 \/\/ on light and its numerous dilations
Running through the streets of this city is never a task to take lightly, especially when you're chasing someone. Your eyes have to move fast, back and forth between the person running from you and the street full of potholes so large you could curl up and sleep in them.
sub-entry 1> episode 5.04 \/\/ on the placement of statues and words
You know the big bang never happened here? It was a bang everywhere else, but here it was more like a loud, wet thwap that started everything – like the sound a soggy pancake makes when you throw it against a bowling ball that's been dipped in grease.
the blending heat of compassion
Let me fall into the broken waves of your absence, twisted in the soft wings of your malignant ships.. as they sail in the frozen crystals that cover my eyelashes.. gently crashing. your memory, rusting the endless tunnels of my mouth.. shaping slow breaths into my dead lungs. i’ve been waiting for a taste; the death of your neglect. a wreckage of sunken ships swallows my dreams, in my desperation i embrace the planet of this silence. when i wake…. i can still taste the fruitless attempt of forgetting. it is our language, familiar, muted, splintered. -eileen garcia
caught in the camera eye-get on with the fascination
we live on a half-lit stage, a concrete platform.. waiting it’s grand appearance, it’s ultimate performance.. dark & light, kissed infinitely by the sun. day becomes night, night into day- the anticipation of change, of an end, or a beginning. the cracks in the walls take their last breath, a soft exhale of tired days… we live in a dream of exploding hearts and hot streets. -eileen garcia
