Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Analect.2.262x



22 Abril. Poco sol, poco sombra. Mediated clouds, wavery fillets of some unknown fish, banked again on the horizon to the south. Who cares? Some great maker, no doubt. His employ: to fall in love with the world--again, and again, and again--an endless chain of falling, or is it an ascent, into the hummus, the loam...

Last night: argyle and eros. Songs of George Brassens. Mourir pour des idées. But what? A cabaret, at first--relaxed, all attitude...but then the tone darkens, the weight of the beating wings of the past...

Song of Jeanne Planche...

Espíritu del Río, ojalá...

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