Thursday, March 27, 2014

Quotes and Bits of Life through Pictures of Books

Petals and broken thoughts gathered from a walk; a slice of Nabokov from the weekend's read

"Whenever I start thinking of my love for a person, I am in the habit of immediately drawing radii from my love - from my heart, from the tender nucleus of a personal matter - to monstrously emote points of the universe. Something impels me to measure the consciousness of my love against such unimaginable and incalculable things as the behavior of nebulae (whose very remoteness seems a form of insanity), the dreadful pitfalls of eternity, the unknowledgeable beyond the unknown, the helplessness, the cold, the sickening involutions and interpenetrations of space and time. It is a pernicious habit, but I can do nothing about it. It can be compared to the uncontrollable flick of an insomniac's tongue checking a jagged tooth in the night of his mouth and bruising itself in doing so but still persevering. I have known people who, upon accidentally touching something - a doorpost, a wall - had to go through a certain very rapid and systematic sequence of manual contacts with various surfaces in the room before returning to a balanced existence. It cannot be helped; I must know where I stand, where you and my son stand. When that slow-motion, silent explosion of love takes place in me, unfolding its melting fringes and overwhelming me with the sense of something much vaster, much more enduring and powerful than the accumulation of matter or energy in any imaginable cosmos, then my mind cannot but pinch itself to see if it is really awake. I have to make a rapid inventory of the universe, just as a man in a dream tries to condone the absurdity of his position by making sure he is dreaming. I have to have all space and all time participate in my emotion, in my mortal love, so that the edge of its mortality is taken off, thus helping me to fight the utter degradation, ridicule, and horror of having developed an infinity of sensation and thought within a finite existence"

- Vladimir Nabokov (Speak, Memory)



Pale Fire and a lolitaesque lolly

“Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream, exhale, release life’s rapture. Everything is blooming. Everything is flying. Everything is screaming, choking on its screams. Laughter. Running. Let-down hair. That is all there is to life.”

— Vladimir Nabokov


Charles Bauldier's Flowers of Evil
From a stranger, from the other side of the globe. I 've received some of the most beautiful gifts, most touching kindness, the most interesting conversations, most searing, soaring forms of love and friendships from strangers. 

Sunday, March 16, 2014



You are an immeasurable ocean

in a grain of sand-

caught under the lid

of my gritty, infected eye.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Placid Tones






My dreams taste of espresso shots, take shapes of anagramed haiku, geometric contemporaneity, misty lakescapes through the wrong end of a telescope, the beguiling cerulean details of a butterfly wing under a begrimed pane.

Picture: Still from Wong Kar-wai's Chungking Express (I've almost forgot how much I used to love his films)