Sunday, March 27, 2016


“Perhaps my life is nothing but an image of this kind; perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I simply should recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten.”

“I am the soul in limbo.”

“Beauty is like a train that ceaselessly roars out of the Gare de Lyon and which I know will never leave, which has not left. It consists of jolts and shocks, many of which do not have much importance, but which we know are destined to produce one Shock, which does...The human heart, beautiful as a seismograph...”

“Beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all.”

André Breton

Sunday, March 20, 2016

I Exhale

Life it's a touch,
Everything is golden
Right now

You talk too fast
The house you want is
Monday morning
What you got?
Shiver and smile

Seen the tiny stars
Your shoes and beer
Sharp shadow
Clean the dirt

Lost crown
In a blue sky
As best as roofs
Correlated rhythms

Spangled top,
Leather jacket
Run your fingers through your hair
We're nearly there
Hiding in the dark
Sheltered from the winds
Hold hands
and we go away


Sunday, March 13, 2016

A near-synonym is boulevardier


“It is only for those without hope that hope is given.”


“No poem is intended for the reader, no picture for the beholder, no symphony for the listener.”

“A Klee painting named 'Angelus Novus' shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.”


“There is no document of civilization that is not at the same time a document of barbarism.”

“In the end, we get older, we kill everyone who loves us through the worries we give them, through the troubled tenderness we inspire in them, and the fears we ceaselessly cause.”

  Walter Benjamin

Sunday, March 6, 2016

On Ugliness


“Beauty is, in some ways, boring. Even if its concept changes through the ages, nevertheless a beautiful object must always follow certain rules … 
Ugliness is unpredictable and offers an infinite range of possibilities. Beauty is finite. Ugliness is infinite, like God.”

Umberto Eco