As if you could kill time, without injuring eternity.
I miss Walden pond!

a lie=the negation of passion

Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.

“In her trembling hand she took the new born terror, howling.”

*** tends to react against political disorder because he is concerned with the deep basic religious experience, the deepest sources of life; transient politics are insignificant to him… Joachim Wach

“So far as you are concerned ‘life’ is a verb of two voices, active, to do, and passive, to dream. Others believe doing to be only a kind of dreaming. Still others have discovered (in a mirror surrounded with mirrors) something harder than silence but softer than falling: the third voice of ‘life’ which believes itself and which cannot mean because it is.” from the play him by e.e. cummings

Re-read The Zahir, a short story from Borges’ labyrinths, and stopped again by that phrase, which is supposed to have been overheard, and used to signify madness or saintliness. The text reads “He was informed that the reference was to a magic tiger which was the ruin of whoever beheld it, even from far away, since the beholder continued to think about it to the end of his days..” It goes on to give details of specific hauntings, referring to the apparition as “a kind of infinite Tiger.” Speaking of his personal haunting, involving the Zahir, Borges explains how the condition has only worsened with time, and states: “There was a time when I could visualize the obverse, and then the reverse. Now I see them simultaneously.” He considers the blurring of dreams and reality, and asks when all on earth think, day and night of (insert your Tiger here), which will be a dream and which a reality-the earth or (T—)…

I just discovered that the Jolie Holland song that I sing with disturbing frequency in my car is actually the word-for-word lyrics of an early Yeats poem. No wonder I was obsessed with it for so long. Sing along here.

Went to the Ann Street Gallery in Newburgh (logo design like a Hawthorne novel) and saw the Contemporary Drawing Exhibit…Lorene Taurerewa’s charcoal drawings are huge and even better up close…monkey inside woman was holding strings like reigns directing the horse with phallic gnome jockey guy bursting away from her…looked up more of her drawings and I love the eyes of her characters…passionate apathy? Sad romanticism or resignation? Like the way this form of drawing makes something so alive come off of a white canvas, just through different shades of dark. Also flipped through a catalog of work by Jorge J. Aristizabal…was this the artist we ran into when we arrived?  When I walked in the gallery director ran up to me and greeted me enthusiastically, introducing me first as the film director, and later as the girlfriend of a film director, and I figured I must have been sleepwalking…walked along the water afterwards with J., remembered going to that library frantically looking up something or other for a paper I probably never finished, thought about going home to write but ate rice balls at Japanese noodle house instead.

www.taurerewa.com