I took a train of dreams last night (like Oleg a few nights ago). Very restless - probably a combination of their emotional vividness and the enormous portion of bife chorizo and vino tinto I had for dinner - and each time I found myself shaken awake, my body torpid, a new image had taken up residence. Idiotically, as usual, I didn't make note of ( Read more... )

Dear McCoy ( Read more... )

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Satyrs must have been pulping grapes in my eye-hollows while I was sleeping (although no stains are visible).

The words were winged with their accent, so that they fluttered and settled about him in the darkness like vague white doves.

--Henry James, Daisy Miller

Find me in New York July 8-18, under some blossoming tree.

Air finished. Firmament now.

(Thank you, Marina.)

Eternal Sunshine come true?

For more on dazzling, disturbing, and (potentially) disastrous scientific advances, I encourage you to take a walk with Johan.

If anything's a sure symptom of happiness,
it is to count, as lately I have been, one's lucky stars.

There's tenderness, there's beauty,
there--shooting straight into my palm--is love.

Happy Valentine's Day, darlings.

We can make the snow fall
with and without words. I mean,
there's no one keeping us
from watching.

. . . the sight of gilt wires and bruised wings, the spacious but suspended cage, the home of eternal unrest, of pacings, beatings, shakings all so vain, into which the baffled consciousness helplessly resolved itself.

-James, The Golden Bowl