NEVERLAND & THE FERRYMAN — ZOOLONHUB

https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/v=2/track=2802069516/album=4113824605/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/

‘Prying Eyes’ (if I had been ready a second earlier taking this pic I’d have captured the swans kissing) 100% true. So, the sun’s out and I’m thinking photographs. 411 more words

via NEVERLAND & THE FERRYMAN — ZOOLONHUB

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EASTSIDE 1981 — ZOOLONHUB

https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/v=2/track=1415772567/album=4113824605/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/

‘Discernible Connection’ by Zoolon A couple of weeks back I mentioned that I’d post my tribute to Francesca Woodman, the amazingly talented photographic artist whose work didn’t make it big until after she had committed suicide, in New York, in January 1981, aged just 22. 206 more words

via EASTSIDE 1981 — ZOOLONHUB

“The Cold” (transcribed)

(July 14, 2018)

By J Richards

Sometimes wonder Am I The Coldest

man alive,

then wonder: Alive?

When imagining my

‘sposed

anguish over so  sweet a loss

rather than wish be granted,

an easy and a delivered

beginning.

And that’s not cold.

I am.

 

  • from a poem I wrote on the inside back cover of The Anvil Book III of The General by S. M. Stirling and David Drake paperback several decades ago by the condition of the oft-reread paperback military science fiction.
  • Got me what it all means.  The ink was faded, but, oddly for me, legible enough to transcribe.  Usually I date such pieces and there are many, many more haunting the pages of paperbacks, hardbacks and, yes, texts: some I bought new and others acquired.  And the notebooks. The Notebooks: lost, tossed or not yet mined in an ongoing pursuit of a fabled – at least between two ears I know well – past.
  • I know. I prefer my fables future.  Sometimes with milk and honey.  You?

Ode to Being Placed on Hold — O at the Edges from Robert Okaji: made me want beer…but then much does these days

Ode to Being Placed on Hold The music rarely entertains, but I find peace between the notes, sometimes, and embrace the notion that I’ve been inserted in that peculiar capsule between speech and the void, imagining myself somewhere, floating, free of care and gravity, beer can satellites orbiting my head, with bites of pungent […]

via Ode to Being Placed on Hold — O at the Edges