everything possible · 206 days ago
easier, joe purdy
berries · 261 days ago
my two friends in the world
who know about berries
are in love,
both for them a thing young and ripe,
and both for them enduring.
wash them, he says,
and don’t be afraid of an irregular shape.
buy local, she says,
and be attentive to seasons.
in a field
where plump and soft are virtues,
where taste is beauty,
where tenderness is strength,
they have planted a garden,
and, waiting, tending,
there their fruit will grow.
there's no court for our case · 292 days ago
I bought an album today: horse feathers, house with no name. huddled with it under the cloak of my ipod, I biked through the soft smooth night air down the hill, weaving among the museums and monuments.
I can’t believe how big these cold lit buildings are in my eyes, highlighted in the night. all day long, the window of my sight is seventeen inches of projected light. and so to see these massive things, and to feel the warm wind run through me and see them all move and rotate before me: it’s the simplest of surprises.
but that these could be built by man, in honor of man, is a complex and sophisticated kind of shock. what long line of shoulders lifted those stones, and by what strength were they drawn?
whirling around them on my little machine I can’t help but feel as thin and light as the wind.
and then it all seems small and sad and hopeless: the stubborn permanence of those stones, trying to build, to establish, to hold onto something that was only ever as thin and quick-moving as I, who silently takes it all in.
I can’t imagine a man could ever have as much permanence in him as these monuments express.
and I take comfort in that: that the working man’s dignity is just as light.