The more I learn of history, I can't help but wonder if the liberty the American forefathers desired was to make of themselves kings in the New World. John Locke spoke in his treatises on government of the, "life, liberty, and property," owed to all men, from which the inalienable rights of the 1775 Declaration …
turgid
swollen verses of the tediously bombast— the intarsia of agitprop, the germane rouse; which pretends at dignity yet without the telic substance of coherence are "pompous words walking aimlessly through the landscape in search of an idea." this was said of Warren Harding, a president who would not be known were not the effigy of …
forests of Iroquois
afterwards there was a cast of sawdust the earth trembling quiet, and spirits of the forest winnow while the daguerreotype blackened— a voice of maudlin nostalgia rasps unintelligible; but still i listen. resting upon the tree stump (its name 'sui generis' was) i'm conscious that weeks gone by what i heard were likely Silverstein's homilies …
doldrums (n.)
a strained melisma teetering within the mind the overture of a waking dream that arouses nothing. it's rhythmic, faint less than static a tumbleweed which strikes cliches and old whispers into numbing thought twf.
moth gitana
me dicen que soy plaga invasora en esto yo no creo ¿quién me trajo a las afueras de mi tierra y me abandonó en las profundas de me ser? pues está roto el barco de mi reencarnación la crisálida no puedo volver— no puedo y me dicen invasora; que tuviera alas que me lleven al …
a quandary of memory
There is a Darwish poem about a place that becomes itself retrospectively, quietly where its image, its likeness in memory is stronger than the place itself. Dialectics, maybe a penchant for nostalgia but then, aren't myths our interpretation of history? Home isn't a landline the ocean wasn't blue, a gist is more than the sum …
january 1st, 2024
Years ago, I stumbled across a blog called Nostalgia on 9th Avenue. Back then, I was attempting the quite impossible task of teaching myself Japanese, and while it was admirable, painting the sweaty attrition of my summer days with the black strokes of kanji, orderly, tilted just so, I learned barely a fraction of the …
ode to a little star
as though waves washing back from obsidian shores the clouds reveal you i hear their hastening upon the wind. i know what you are, now; and yet, the twirling galaxy in my chest this interstellar gravitas plucks the awe in me like sea stars dusts my dreams with pearls. june 28, 2022. 10:08pm.
a straw and a camel
im tired of being okay with things im not okay with. the Congo Rainforest is being raped by sleazy companies and desperate bushmen California teachers marooned in parent's living rooms, the flag half-mast for a queen a queen in a nation of babbling democratic zealots; and it's funny, in that helpless sort of way. "sometimes …
Zeami Motokiyo
"to watch the sun sink below the flower-clad hill. to wander into the forest, without thought of return. to stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that disappears behind the distant islands. to contemplate the flight of the wild geese, seen and lost among the clouds." Yugen
The-Bleu-Bivouac 