Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

A Greenblue Mayfly || A Fine Frost

In an easily calculated fashion, my interests of rearrangement and organization and construction shifts from the gardenscapes to the interior landscapes of my bookshelves. Even though last year I joined the ranks of e-book readers, our house still lives in the early Twentieth Century with an intense library of material, which spreads from room to room, floor to floor. In vain I seek a concise order to the flow of encyclopedias, anthologies, tomes, trash reading, and graphic novels I’ve collected over time. I want to achieve a system of order which enables me to glance up at a moment’s notice and find the book I need without pause or frustration— but where to start?

120/ A greenblue mayfly stitches the air before his front door. A prediction of dissatisfaction? —or a sign that a letter with good news will arrive in the mail tomorrow?
121/ In the change of seasons, he lets whiskers take root around his face, a fine frost emerging.

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