On my Deathbed
I told language:
Thanks for having my children
The language had names,
As did the children:
They were all words.
I dreamt of a door
The kind without windows
That always stands open.
I remembered some more
So I said the unspoken:
I gave them my want.
It declined.
"La seule vie qui soit passionnante est la vie imaginaire." Virginia Woolf
"As for me I reduce everything to a tumult of words" - Clarice Lispector
On attachment, detaching, and ordinary life.
Exploring the Intersection of Efficiency and Librarianship
Graphic Novels & Webcomics by G. E. Gallas
"As for me I reduce everything to a tumult of words" - Clarice Lispector
"the letter always reaches its destination" -- Jacques Derrida
Chasing big dreams one photo at a time
Poetry, haiku, tanka, and micropoetry
I had a dream that I didn’t want the lion to eat the lamb and the lion came up and lapped my face like a big puppy dog and then I picked up the lamb and it kissed me. - Jack Kerouac
an investigation into the nature of our engagement with spaces, by means of documentary gesture towards the everyday
Something feels like time is not yet done here. Something…like a hand, reaching out from a candle in the darkness…
exquisite.
Beautiful poem.