emotions like pigments, ready to be mixed and painted......in which way we decorate the temple of our soles today?


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"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."


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We camped in Big Sur this weekend, snuggled into the backseat of Meena's friend's convertible with blankets and tent parts and wine bottles all nestled around our feet. It was beautiful to get away to the country, to walk along the endlessness of coast that is california and ponder the greatness of the trees.

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