not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


what i know of me is x
what you know of me is y

where do we meet?
where do i live?


  1. this makes me want to stretch out my hand, to see its shadow on the floor, to see my fingers move like a dead pianists. it fills me with beauty and melancholy.

    where do any of us live? it's the big question. it's like asking who we are. really, who are we?
    some days the answer seems obvious, if ineffable (hey! word of the day!), some days out of reach. but since the sun is shining i'll go outside and meet, if not myself, then someone else.

  2. melancholy is such a beautiful word.

    it is always ineffable, who we are. to me, it's almost impossible for me to grasp and it would seem most concrete for me, wouldn't it? and then for you to know of me, for my mother, for my children, it's as though we cast a shadow and then make an entirely new one, one we never anticipated, certainly one we've no control over.

    (i love that you admit you didn't know ineffable. there aren't many who would and isn't that the oddest thing? if not here to learn than what?)



"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))