taken by a sweet mother

brothers 

something about this song is so utterly charming

x
Aguas de Marco

instruments

\

black and gold peacock engraved trumpet

mon petit couer, c'est ca

(soundtrack: x)

the words that are keeping me warm through this cold november day

In the uncertain light of single, certain truth, 
Equal in living changingness to the light 
In which I meet you, in which we sit at rest, 
For a moment in the central of our being, 
The vivid transparence that you bring is peace. 


- Wallace Stevens, "Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction"

happy kitten

first you tasted like rolling tobacco-

and now its Sunday morning and we named my bed Church.

Cures for Insomnia Vol. 3

giving me sweet dreams

x

The Sofa

Your letter stayed unopen on my table
For several days. If you were friend enough
To believe me, I was about to start writing
At any moment; my mind was savagely made up
Like a serious sofa moved
Under a north window. My heart, alas

Is not the calmest of places.
Still it is not my heart that needs replacing:
And my books seem real enough to me,
My disasters, my surrenders, all my loss...
Since I was child enough to forget
That you loathe poetry, you ask for some-
About nature, greenery, insects, and, of course,
The sun- surely that would be to open
An already open window? To celebrate
The impudence of flowers? If I could

Interest you instead in his large, gentle stares,
How his soft shirt is the inside of pleasure
To me, why I must wear white for him,
Imagine he no longer trembles
When I approach, no longer buys me
Flowers for my name day...But I spread
On like a house, I begin to scatter
To a tiny to-and-fro at odds
With the wear on my threshold. Somewhere
A curtain rising wonders where I am,
My books sleep, pretending to forget me.

(Medbh McGuckian)

Cures for Insomnia Vol. 2

sleep well lovebugs

x

I'm a total sucker for this kinda shit

yummy yummy sounds: x

Cures for Insomnia Vol. 1

Sweet sounds, will help with the zzzzzz

x

(this whole album is just gaaaawwwwggeouss stuff, really)

My body on this hard bed.

I want to die on your chest but not yet,
she wrote, sometime in the 13th century
of our love

before the yellow age of paper

before her story became a song,

lost in imprecise reproductions

until caught in jade,

whose spectum could hold the black greens

the chalk-blue of her eyes in daylight.

***

Our altering love, our moonless faith.

Last ink in the pen.

My body on this hard bed.

The moment in the heart
where I roam restless, searching

for the thin border of the fence to break through or leap.

Leaping and bowing.

(from "Last Ink in the Pen", by Mr. Micheal Ondaatje)

How much do I love this new album? Let me count the ways.

I was tired of being drunk. My face cracked like a joke. So I swung through here like a brace of jackrabbits with their necks all broke

fill your ears with some new joanna sweetness:

x marks the spot