Notes From Me
Monday, October 09, 2006

The Beginning of the End

Happy Birthday #2 to Notes From Me. Baby, this is your last post, in three parts. You were born in Japan, you've been around the world, and you landed in San Francisco, all by age two. Hats off. Much love.

The thing always happens that you really believe in; and the belief in the thing makes it happen. -Frank Lloyd Wright, who designed this:

posted by lux at 10:50 AM
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I began to warm and chill
To objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner deals
The meal trolley's wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this weighing of the truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.

...My kill-hand's tatooed E.V.I.L.
across it's brother's fist
That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist.

In Heaven His throne is made of gold
The ark of his Testament is stowed
A throne from which I'm told
All history does unfold.
It's made of wood and wire
And my body is on fire
And God is never far away.

Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.

-Johnny Cash

posted by lux at 10:38 AM
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posted by lux at 9:18 AM
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The Journal

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.


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