Notes From Me

Thursday, December 16, 2004

the weather will be served in a corn husk

that has been and continues to be dipped and redipped in petroleum then lit on fire invisibly.

A few days ago while at work, about to make either coffee or tea with an empty cup in my hand, I heard my coworker Ray outside playing some kind of speak-English dodge ball or something. He was shouting, but diminished through windy air and walls and closed windows, his tiny voice came from inside the cup.

"Eventually Geryon learned to write.
His mother's friend Maria gave him a beautiful notebook from Japan with a florescent cover. On the cover Geryon wrote Autobiography. Inside he set down the facts.

...Geryon lived on an island in the Atlantic called the Red Place. Geryon's mother was a river that runs to the sea the Red Joy River Geryon's father was gold. Some say Geryon had six hands six feet some say wings. Geryon was red so were his strange red cattle. anne carson from autobiography of red

posted by lux at 1:57 AM
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3 Comments:

kt commented at 12/17/2004~: ann carson...i haven't read that one, but i have gone through alot of Eros: The Bittersweet, and her Catullus' variations...the weather over here today is cobbled together from other, earlier days: cold bite to the air, but sunlight straight from childhood mornings waiting for the yellow schoolbus.
lux commented at 12/17/2004~: Are you in SF at the moment or have you gone to visit back East? Memories of seasons in New Jersey are fundamental and exquisite; each one had its own intricate personality. I remember winter skies as alternately pale gray and far away, or light blue crystaline cold giving way to black clarity and breathclouds rising to my upward turned vision.
Anonymous commented at 12/19/2004~: still in the city, slow preparing myself for the bittersweet recognitions in my home town; woods turned into houses, the pond deep in the trees possibly gone, etc. i would love to have those woods still there but ive heard rumors that there have been lots of houses built in my neighborhood. who knows if i can slide on the bumpy surface of the frozen over pond? still, i hope there is snow, i imagine myself doing a morning run dressed in sweat pants, sweater, wool hat pulled over my ears, snow sticking to my clothes, listening to 'London Calling'...

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