Sunday, 12 March 2017

Sunday, 8 January 2017

rilke


Saturday, 13 August 2016

Thursday, 18 February 2016

Wednesday, 13 January 2016

Saturday, 7 November 2015

Thursday, 27 August 2015

still


Saturday, 16 May 2015

kashmir

Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream
I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been
To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen
They talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed
Talk and song from tongues of lilting grace, whose sounds caress my ear
But not a word I heard could I relate, the story was quite clear
Oh, oh.
Oh, I been flying... mama, there ain't no denyin'
I've been flying, ain't no denyin', no denyin'
All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground
And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land
Trying to find, trying to find where I've been.
Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace, like thoughts inside a dream
Heed the path that led me to that place, yellow desert stream
My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return again
Sure as the dust that floats high and true, when movin' through Kashmir.
Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails, across the sea of years
With no provision but an open face, along the straits of fear
Ohh.
When I'm on, when I'm on my way, yeah
When I see, when I see the way, you stay-yeah
Ooh, yeah-yeah, ooh, yeah-yeah, when I'm down...
Ooh, yeah-yeah, ooh, yeah-yeah, well I'm down, so down
Ooh, my baby, oooh, my baby, let me take you there
Let me take you there. Let me take you there

(Bonham/Jones/Page/Plant)

Sunday, 19 April 2015

Friday, 6 March 2015


Thursday, 15 January 2015

Thursday, 25 September 2014

Thursday, 5 June 2014

Friday, 23 May 2014

delicate

Monday, 19 May 2014

lead

Monday, 7 April 2014

"Bottom of the World" written by Emily Haines...sung by Tom Waits My Daddy told me, lookin back The best friend you'll have is a railroad track So when I was 13 I said, I'm rollin' my own, And I'm leaving Missouri and I'm never coming home And I'm lost And I'm lost I'm lost at the bottom of the world I'm handcuffed to the Bishop and the barbershop liar I'm lost at the bottom of the world Satchel puddin' and Lord God Mose Sittin' by the fire with a busted nose That fresh egg yeller is too damn rare But the white part is perfect for slickin' down your hair And I'm lost And I'm lost I'm lost at the bottom of the world I'm handcuffed to the Bishop and the barbershop liar I'm lost at the bottom of the world Blackjack Ruby and Nimrod Cain The moon's the color of a coffee stain Jesse Franks and Birdy Joe Hoax But who is the king of all of these folks? And I'm lost And I'm lost I'm lost at the bottom of the world I'm handcuffed to the Bishop and the barbershop liar I'm lost at the bottom of the world Well I dined last night with Scarface Ron On Telapia fish cakes and fried black swan Razorweed onion and peacock squirrel And I dreamed all night about a beautiful girl And I'm lost And I'm lost I'm lost at the bottom of the world I'm handcuffed to the Bishop and the barbershop liar I'm lost at the bottom of the world Well God's green hair is where I slept last He balanced a diamond on a blade of grass Now I woke me up with a cardinal bird And when I wanna talk he hangs on every word And I'm lost And I'm lost I'm lost at the bottom of the world I'm handcuffed to the Bishop and the barbershop liar I'm lost at the bottom of the world

Friday, 7 March 2014

I am! yet what I am none cares or knows, My friends forsake me like a memory lost; I am the self-consumer of my woes, They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost; And yet I am! and live with shadows tost Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life nor joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest. I long for scenes where man has never trod; A place where woman never smil'd or wept; There to abide with my creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept: Untroubling and untroubled where I lie; The grass below--above the vaulted sky. - John Clare

Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Waldeinsamkeit

I do not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like God it useth me. In plains that room for shadows make Of skirting hills to lie, Bound in by streams which give and take Their colors from the sky; Or on the mountain-crest sublime, Or down the oaken glade, O what have I to do with time? For this the day was made. Cities of mortals woe-begone Fantastic care derides, But in the serious landscape lone Stern benefit abides. Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy, And merry is only a mask of sad, But, sober on a fund of joy, The woods at heart are glad. There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, And with a million spells enchants The souls that walk in pain. Still on the seeds of all he made The rose of beauty burns; Through times that wear and forms that fade, Immortal youth returns. The black ducks mounting from the lake, The pigeon in the pines, The bittern's boom, a desert make Which no false art refines. Down in yon watery nook, Where bearded mists divide, The gray old gods whom Chaos knew, The sires of Nature, hide. Aloft, in secret veins of air, Blows the sweet breath of song, O, few to scale those uplands dare, Though they to all belong! See thou bring not to field or stone The fancies found in books; Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own, To brave the landscape's looks. Oblivion here thy wisdom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For a proud idleness like this Crowns all thy mean affairs. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sunday, 5 January 2014


Thursday, 5 December 2013