"You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you."
– Joseph Joubert
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We have lingered in the chambers of the sea / By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown / Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
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- Thanksgiving, Take II, Wellfleet, Mass.
- recreational activities
- Patty
- line
- gulls, surfer
- Gulls and surf
- back
- wipe
- surf's up
- beginning of the break
- Into the sea
- leveling the playing field
- leveling the playing field
- dunes at sunset
- playing football
- the other non-player
- playing field
- and one with non-football-player
- Team Photo
- big mana, Wellfleet beach
- Over the dunes
- Time for football on the beach
- Happynessa, Wellfleet
- Kelly, Wellfleet, Mass.
- Boston, waiting for Brown to pick me up
- Tyler, soon to be a big bro
- Isabel and Gary, Hermit Crab
- Familia Colombiana
- Mom, proud of the table
- Home, Thanksgiving
- Thanks, Christy, for having a framed picture of me...
- "You will not find poetry anywhere unless you brin...
- going home, 9th St.
- going home, W. 37th
- going home, canal street
- alex grey, kiss2
- erik with alex grey's painting of the evening
- painting, detail
- artist, COSM workshop
- one happy camper
- alex paints
- Alex Grey chatted with me and let me photograph hi...
- my second tarot reading (both for me)
- my tarot reading
- Terry, painting
- Painter, detail
- painter, COSM Workshop
- COSM Workshop: Set-up
- COSM Workshop: set-up
- COSM workshop: set-up
- Albert Hoffman, portrait by Alex Grey, joined by t...
- COSM gallery art workshop, Friday Nov. 21, 2008
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2 comentarios:
propped up on the elliptical machine
yesterday, i found a plasticized card with Sonnet 130.
i smiled and began to work out.
SONNET 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Shakespeare, Sonnet 130
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