Avgvstvs I.

by angeliska on August 14, 2008

I am accompanying Hello Lovers
on ocean-harp tomorrow night- come and see!
Also, the magical and adorable
Faith Delphi
Aaron Blount
I am freaking out with joy about this:

It is a matryoshka doll with a theremin built into it!
Essentially, this is the perfect instrument- for me..
I must have one! My heart is exploding!
I mean, really. This is the best thing ever. So, so wonderful and weird.

Almost ripe, from our pear tree..
I read this passage yesterday,
and decided that it was just too
perfect not to share…
“Again she thought of a pear-
not the everyday gritty kind that
hung on the tree in the backyard,
but the kind sold on trains and at
high prices, each pear with
a paper cone wrapping it alone-
beautiful, symmetrical, clean pears
with thin skins, with snow-white flesh
so juicy and tender that to eat one
baptized the whole face,
and so delicate that while you
urgently ate the first half,
the second half was already
beginning to turn brown.
To all fruits, and especially
to those fine pears,
something happened-
the process was so swift,
you were never in time for them.
It’s not the flowers that are fleeting,
it’s the fruits- it’s the time when things
are ready that they don’t stay.
She even went through the rhyme,
‘Pear tree by the garden gate,
how much longer must I wait?’

-thinking it was the pears
that asked it, not the picker.”
-from Moon River, by Eudora Welty

Earlier this afternoon I passed by Rusty Jacknife
lolling around outside and thought he was dead!
His mouth was hanging open, and he looked all bloated.
Actually, he’s just really fat.

This also makes me unspeakably happy.
Oh yes and who wrote this?
I snatched it, and then forgot.
Whoever you are, I love you.
(Ah, I know now- it was Tami Nelson!)
“it’s raskolnikov. i am laying on a straw couch
watching raskolnikov shave in a broken mirror,
it’s fogged, his hair is wet. it’s summer.
my fingers follow the threads of an old handmade quilt.
i am sweating (for real, it’s hot in the stairwell, too)
there is an open can of pineapple pieces
and i am sucking the syrup off the rim.
there’s a jungle out there and the rain
hits the elephant eared green
hard like splashes and i have
rigoletto stuck in my head
but don’t want to sing because
my voice is gorgeous in my head
but these cords can’t hold a hum.
he looks like my brother
and i think about music
and how it connects us,
violin strings curled under
sketches of women on a desk (one of me)
littered with my jewelry,
i’ve gone back in time again.”

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