Jive Turkey

Suave.

Goethe on orbit

Can you dare even to think of yourself in the midst of this eternally living order without then asserting itself within you too something that is in ceaseless motion and describes its orbit about a pure center?
And even if you were to find it difficult to locate this center within you, you would recognise it by the fact that a kind and soothing effect emanates from it and testifies to its existence.

-Wilhelm Meister's Journeyings

Shingo Christ

Jesus was buried in Japan.

Too soon?

"It's not the black side, it's not the white side...it's the interface, the edge."

More Nabokov

My picture book was at an early age
The painted parchment papering our cage:
Mauve rings around the moon, blood orange sun;
Twinned iris; and that rare phenomenon
The iridule- when, beautiful and strange,
In a bright sky above a mountain range
One opal cloudlet in an oval form
Reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm
Which in a distant valley has been staged-
For we are most artistically caged.

-Nabokov, Pale Fire

I once had the opportunity to buy a hat emblazoned with the words "If you ain't a fisherman, you ain't shit.", but didn't.

Regret means this, and nothing more.

Dumitru Dan is the man.

Express your thought and not the surface of it.- Albert Pinkham Ryder

The Race Track (Death on a pale horse)

Sound advice from the wailing souls

Press play....don't fight it.

Audio(visual) indulgences

On the level heavy.

EDIT: Hearing this again too..

And this.

Joanica

Heard some long low melancholic rumbles forming chords at this subway station in Barcelona today.

Updaikus

Week in London done.
Had a great time, saw some saints.
TFL did well.

Madrid-bound tomo'.
26 hour coach journey.
Avoid DVT.

Miquiztli

...and here's the little fellow in action.
 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiroo_Onoda

Heartily recommend the first 48 minutes of this.

Refs for the road

 

"And I'll turn down eternity unless
The melancholy and the tenderness
Of mortal life; the passion and the pain;
The claret taillight of that dwindling plane
Off hesperus; your gesture of dismay
On running out of cigarettes; the way
You smile at dogs; the trail of silver slime
Snails leave on flagstones; this good ink, this rhyme,
This index card, this slender rubber band
Which always forms, when dropped, an ampersand
Are found in Heaven by the newlydead,
Stored in its strongholds through the years.
                                                                      Instead..."

- Vladimir Nabokov

Moebius/Giraud