February 2012
6 posts
January 2012
3 posts
No but now, now, simply stay still, standing before a window, one hand on the wall, the other clutching your shirt, and see the sky, a long gaze, but no, gasps and spasms, a childhood sea, other skies, another body.
Grace to know that void.
December 2011
2 posts
September 2011
4 posts
I feel like breaking things. Fingers, for starters.
1 tag
I’ll close me eyes. So not to see. Or see only a youth in his florizel, a boy in innocence, peeling a twig, a child beside a weenywhite steed. The child we all love to place our hope in for ever. All men has done something… I will tell you all sorts of makeup things, strangerous. And show you to every simple storyplace we pass… If I lose my breath for a minute or two don’t...
August 2011
12 posts
2 tags
3 tags
1 tag
2 tags
I like watching you garden with your back to me in your purple bathing suit: your back is my favorite part of you, the part furthest away from your mouth. You might give some thought to that mouth. Also to the way you weed, breaking the grass off at ground level when you should pull it by the roots. How many times do I have to tell you how the grass spreads, your little pile...
July 2011
16 posts
Leave them there, sweating and icy, there is better elsewhere. No, life ends and no, there is nothing elsewhere, and no question now of ever finding again that white speck lost in whiteness, to see if they still lie still in the stress of that storm, or of a worse storm, or in the black dark for good, or the great whiteness unchanging, and if not what they are doing.
-Beckett, “Imagination...
June 2011
15 posts
He advanced towards Mercier, who promptly recoiled. I was only going to embrace you, said Camier. I’ll do it some other time, when you’re less yourself, if I think of it.
-Beckett, Mercier and Camier
“I vow I will get over J.J. before I die.”
-Beckett, letter to Samuel Putnam (1932)
