cloudgatherer hold me down: "...they must be a rare blessing in that wilderness..."

Friday, 7 December 2012

"...they must be a rare blessing in that wilderness..."

4 comments:

hillary rain :: said...: exquisite, my dear......; 8 December 2012 16:12
Wingfall at dusk said...: A wonderful and eclectic box of treasures. A circus of tantalising images. Is that a huge candle chime next to the picture of the tenement mural? I see Jung's 'Memories, dreams and Reflections':) His words dwell deep in the heart. I've been thinking about getting a copy of 'The Snow Child' as my 'Christmas book' - though there is another (although I can't remember the title - I only hope the bookshop still has some, otherwise I'll never know!). That is the BESTEST Advent Calendar EVER!!! I LOVE it!!!; 10 December 2012 22:05
Elizabeth Carrington said...: Oh my thats gorgeous sends a little shiver down my spine. You write like something pouring, ancient and true and so full of a deeper darkness, deeper than dark, somehwere in soul.
Blessings on your Christmas. x E; 23 December 2012 20:04
♥ w o o l f ♥ said...: and here are the images to those original words above...
;)))
n♥; 25 December 2012 07:14

when someone else speaks your heart

"do i contradict myself? very well, then i contradict myself, i am large, i contain multitudes." ~ from song of myself - walt whitman

“i’ve always had a theory that some of us are born with nerve endings longer than our bodies” - joy harjo

"if he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. what i say to you i say to everyone: watch!"~ mark 13:36-37

i no longer wish to refrain from the errors of my fingers, the errors of my eyes. i know now that these errors are not just booby traps but curious paths leading towards a destination that they alone can reveal to me. there are strange flowers of reason to match each error of the senses. admirable gardens of absurd beliefs, forebodings, obsessions and frenzies. unknown, ever-changing gods take shape there. i shall contemplate these leaden faces, these hemp-seeds of the imagination. how beautiful you are in your sand-castles, you columns of smoke! new myths spring up beneath each step we take. legend begins where man has lived, where he lives. all that i intend to think about from now on is these despised transformations. each day the modern sense of existence becomes subtly altered. a mythology ravels and unravels." - from the preface to 'paris peasant' by louis aragon

"from heel to forehead, i am a block of blue sky." ~ edmond jabès, 'the book of questions II'

“i-i am going to be a storm-a flame- i need to fight whole armies alone; i have ten hearts; i have a hundred arms; i feel too strong to war with mortals-BRING ME GIANTS!” ~ cyrano de bergerac

"this tremendous world I have inside of me. how to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces…and rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me."— the diaries of Franz Kafka

"i am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and i thought people would see it because ‘romantic’ doesn’t mean ‘sugary.’ it’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain." — catherine breillat

"i cannot but think, ‘something wonderful may happen.’ it is not optimism, it is a rejection of self-pity (i hope) which leaves a loophole for life… i merely choose to remain living out of respect for possibility. and possibility is the great good.”-Frank O’Hara, Early Writing, 108-9 (1/22/49)

"...but i have seen the beautiful. i know its contours and the rough guide it provides is blissfully specific: the hand that rides the ridge of the collarbone or moves along the brow, the perfect form of momentary light in this line or another. it’s what blake saw at the top of the stair, the terrible earthquake at the root of the flesh we think of as delight. it’s what you see when you shut your eyes and see, the angel with the whip or a flaming sword that burns your eyes down to the spinal cord, the shit, blood, semen smell of mortality you get used to because it follows you everywhere and is both beautiful and true." - from 'rough guide' by george szirtes

"what should i do about the wild and the tame? the wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. i want to be held. i don’t want you to come too close. i want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. i don’t want to tell you where i am. i want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. i want to be with you."— jeanette winterson

"i went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown for going out i found, was really going in." ~ john muir

“and we danced too wild, and we sang too long, and we hugged too hard, and we kissed too sweet, and threw our heads and howled just as loud as we wanted to howl, because by now we were all old enough to know that what looks like crazy on an ordinary day, looks a lot like love if you catch it in the moonlight.” — pearl cleage

“women are lush creatures. we are creation personified.” ~ clarissa pinkola estes

“identity is gradual, cumulative; because there is no need for it to manifest itself, it shows itself intermittently, the way a star hints at the pulse of its being by means of its flickering light. but at what moment in this oscillation is our true self manifested? in the darkness or the twinkle?” ~ sergio chejfec, 'the planets'

"o thou to whom the musical white spring offers her lily inextinguishable, taught by thy tremulous grace bravely to fling implacable death's mysteriously sable rob from her redolent shoulders,thou from whose feet reincarnate song suddenly leaping flame flung, mounts, inimitably to lose herself where the wet stars softly are keeping their exquisite dreams - o love! upon thy dim shrine of intangible commemoration,(from whose faint close as some grave languorous hymn pledge to illimitable dissipation unhurried clouds of incense fleetly roll) i spill my bright incalculable soul." ~ e e cummings

"rise free from care before the dawn, and seek adventures." ~ henry david thoreau

"be well, I am seated beside you, planning a day's work. we are contending with the stuff of stones and stars, with water, air, with dirt, with food and with the sun's fire." ~ david ignatow

"why did i write it down? in order to remember, of course, but exactly what was it i wanted to remember? how much of it actually happened? did any of it? why do i keep a notebook at all? it is easy to deceive oneself on all those scores. the impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself. i suppose that it begins or does not begin in the cradle. although i have felt compelled to write things down since i was five years old, i doubt that my daughter ever will, for she is a singularly blessed and accepting child, delighted with life exactly as life presents itself to her, unafraid to go to sleep and unafraid to wake up. keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss." ~ joan didion

"everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see." ~ rené magritte

for the curious

i used to believe that i often turned my back on reality to partake in frequent flights of fancy, when in fact i now realise that is my reality. i am the ultimate composition of all my contradictions. a strange womanchild. a romantic realist. all corners and curves comfortably straddling the line between darkness and light. i live through my five senses whilst attempting to develop a few others. i adore the scent of grass after the rain. i love the varying textures and opacity of light in the mornings, the smell of used matches, mythology, ritual and folklore, the secrets of the amygdalae. i love the old ways that were the new ways that now shape my way. i love the smile in your voice and eyes. personal heiroglyphs and ancient maps, interior maps, battle scars and passionate hearts, lives lived as poems. i love the smell of autumn in the air, decadence, simplicity, instinct, personal mythologies. i tend towards people who make me listen and see and want to know more. i feel more truth from earth and nature spiritualism, green and blue and everything inbetween. i like to play with matches, adore the scent of sun warmed skin, hot chocolate and turkish delight. i love people's stories, hand written letters (wishing i was less sporadic in my replies.) i relish the collision of lives and worlds, however fleeting or long lasting, and the marks they leave behind, the way their fingerprints and hearts help shape us..

cloudgatherer hold me down

Friday, 7 December 2012

"...they must be a rare blessing in that wilderness..."

4 comments:

and another thing

a trail of breadcrumbs..

thou shalt not steal

then til now

when someone else speaks your heart

wonders

melodious miscellany. another language

for the curious