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nothing left of the bonfire but ashes and embers

Created on 2008-07-18 02:44:05 (#16118854), last updated 2009-11-22

517 comments received, 697 comments posted

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105 Journal Entries, 2 Tags, 215 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 15 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	the still undanced cadence of vanishing

Bio

[ house #3 :: providence, rhode island :: francesca woodman :: 1976 ]

. . .

* memoir * -- [ louise glück ]

i was born cautious, under the sign of taurus.
i grew up on an island, prosperous,
in the second half of the twentieth century;
the shadow of the holocaust
hardly touched us.

i had a philosophy of love, a philosophy
of religion, both based on
early experience within a family.

and if when i wrote i used a few words
it was because time always seemed to me short
as though it could be stripped away
at any moment.

and my story, in any case, wasn't unique
though, like everyone else, i had a story,
a point of view.

a few words were all i needed:
nourish, sustain, attack.

. . .

"i know i am a fool, trying to make connections out of scraps, but how else is there to proceed? the fragmentariness of life makes coherence suspect but to babble is a different kind of treachery. perhaps it is a vanity. am i vain enough to assume you will understand me? no. so i go on puzzling over new joints for words, hoping that this time, one piece will slide smooth against the next.

walk with me. hand in hand through the nightmare of the narrative, the neat sentences secret-nailed over meaning. meaning mewed up like an anchorite, its vision in broken pieces behind the wall. and if we pull away the panelling, then what. without the surface, what hope of contact, of conversation? how will i come to read the rawness inside?"

:: [[ jeanette winterson. ]] ::

. . .

[ banner made by

italianjewels ]

. . .

what did we want
what did we ever want
to shake the fragile hands of time
to rip from their sockets
deceiving eyes
to ride through the night
in a three cornered hat
against the shadows
to cry awake awake
wake up arms delicate feet
we are paramount then obsolete
wake up throat wake up limbs
our mantle pressed
from palm to palm
wake up hearts dressed in rags
costly garments fall away
dangle now in truthful threads
that bind the breast
and wind the muscle
of the soul and whole together.

:: [[ patti smith. ]] ::

. . .

"language tethers us to the world; without it we spin like atoms... we are walking lexicons ... we carry a museum inside our heads, each day we commemorate peoples of whom we have never heard ... i never cease to wonder at it. that words are more durable than anything, that they blow with the wind, hibernate and reawaken, shelter parasitic on the most unlikely hosts, survive and survive and survive."

:: [[ penelope lively. ]] ::

. . .

"well, a nice book, a really lovely book, is a beautiful object. there are books or poems that i have i would like to take sentences from and carve them on the walls, you know, 6ft high, huge letters, like, to bake them into biscuits and eat them. i'd like to, you know, have a bath in these words. i just love them so much."

:: [[ kate holden. ]] ::

. . .

"writing is no longer an act of free will for me. it is a matter of survival."

:: [ paul auster. ]] ::