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Monday, June 20, 2005
The shirt of 10 things is blue and yellow like our Thursdays. When we got to 11, one had to go. Dancing was the carpet I flew for both of us although you sang small enough to fit in my hands. A plan, 1 part nonchalance, 2 diving through. 4 Egyptian young ladies walked with me. They were somehow heartbreakingly kind. Again on that kind of bridge with his ashes whumping into the river. One last gift, freedom to live what I have never dreamt. People were vying to sing onstage at the Mint, so I went up once. I quite liked it. San Francisco is especially gorgeous in the sun. It still reminds me of Athens, only newer and more colorful. A little farther south, my friend Mignonne and I cut willow to build a sweatlodge at her friend's place. Et aussi... Michelle and I went to Amoeba Records. She sort of swam off into the aisles and I angled straight to a listening station. I pressed STYLE whereupon SPOKEN WORD appeared on the screen, specifically Charles Bukowski. I hit PLAY, having so recently been inspired by Born Into This, and found myself listening to track after track. One of his poems was about style, how few actually have it, how doing something dangerous with style can be art, how some dogs have more style than people and how few dogs have style. I think living here in America is dangerous to one's civil freedoms, so to exercise them fully takes style and courage both. I went to City Lights bookstore, which in a way is an extension of Shakespeare and Co. in Paris, which has a small wooden ground floor and stairs that go up while City Lights has its little wooden main floor and stairs that lead down...sitting reading Franck Pavloff's Brown Morning I looked up past an old framed Telegraph page headlining, "Brawl At Poet's Recital THREE POLICEMEN BITTEN" to find on the wall above it a poster of Bukowski. There he was again, he with the bluebird in his heart. Eu esta viva.
posted by lux at 11:25 AM
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Define and Concur, wild like cloudlight The Writer
Wooden boats, musical instruments and fireworks are some of the best inventions. And cameras. I don't believe in following any one person or set of ideas. There are tiny satiations like orchids along the viny forest floor, blooming unseen, more gorgeous than some could keep from weeping over. Whenever I see the occasional sun rise the colors always surprise me like the flavor of tahini in Holland. Subway cars make great rhythm along the tracks, as does wind in treebranches, the sound pattern of running engines, and sometimes clothes in a dryer. I like Sumerian poetry. Archives
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