Jonathan Carroll's Blog, page 45

What's it like to be a human the bird asked I mysel...

What's it like to be a human

the bird asked



I myself don't know

it's being held prisoner by your skin

while reaching infinity

being a captive of your scrap of time

while touching eternity

being hopelessly uncertain

and helplessly hopeful

being a needle of frost

and a handful of heat

breathing in the air

and choking wordlessly

it's being on fire

with a nest made of ashes

eating bread

while filling up on hunger

it's dying without love

it's loving through death



That's funny said the bird

and flew effortlessly up into the air



Anna Kamienska

What's it like to be a human the bird asked I myself d...

What's it like to be a human

the bird asked



I myself don't know

it's being held prisoner by your skin

while reaching infinity

being a captive of your scrap of time

while touching eternity

being hopelessly uncertain

and helplessly hopeful

being a needle of frost

and a handful of heat

breathing in the air

and choking wordlessly

it's being on fire

with a nest made of ashes

eating bread

while filling up on hunger

it's dying without love

it's loving through death



That's funny...

CarrollBlog 9.23

L'amoureuse

by Paul Eluard

She is standing on my lids

And her hair is in my hair

She has the color of my eye

She has the body of my hand

In my shade she is engulfed

As a stone against the sky

She will never close her eyes

And she does not let me sleep

And her dreams in the bright day

Make the suns evaporate

And me laugh cry and laugh

Speak when I have nothing to say

CarrollBlog 9.22

BADLY CHOSEN LOVER

Criminal, you took a great piece of my life,

And you took it under false pretenses,

That piece of time

— In the clear muscles of my brain

I have the lens and jug of it!

Books, thoughts, meals, days, and houses,

Half Europe, spent like a coarse banknote,

You took it — leaving mud and cabbage stumps.

And, Criminal, I damn you for it (very softly).

My spirit broke her fast on you. And, Turk,

You fed her with the breath of your neck

— In my brain's clear retina

I...

CarrollBlog 9.20

WHY THINGS BURN

by Daphne Gottlieb

You told me you like my mouth.

You want to kiss me.

My mouth is a wound and you

want to kiss me.

But you're like

that: You want to go

leaping over cliffs—

you want to go

drinking poison

and then write pretty poems about it—

and all I want to do is

fuck you.

You want flowers and sonnets and us

to be together until the end of the world and I'd

just like a blow job, I'd just like

to be friends.

that's what I'd really like.

Something warm and ...

CarrollBlog 9.16

"The best part of having an affair is whenever you get a chance to meet, your lover is always fresh from the bath and smelling wonderful, thrilled to see you, eager to hold you, hear about your day or anything else you want to talk about. For them the eau de toilette you've worn your whole life is delicious, your stories are new, your insights fresh and compelling. Their eyes light up when they see you, their looks say where have you been all these years? I've been waiting so long. The...

CarrollBlog 9.13

Examples of language used by the Lower-class and Underworld inhabitants of 19th Century London;

Crabshells: Shoes

Barking Irons : Guns. Pistols, esp. Revolvers.

Dollymop: A prostitute, often an amateur or a part-time street girl; a midinette.

Flying the Blue Pidgeon: Stealing roof lead.

Whistle and Flute: Suit

Bit Faker: A coiner. A counterfeiter of coins.

Buck Cabbie: A dishonest cab driver

Haymarket Hector: Pimp, ponce or whore's minder; especially around the areas of Haymarket and ...

CarrollBlog 9.11

L'esprit d'escalier: The feeling you get after leaving a conversation, when you think of all the things you should have said. Translated it means "the spirit of the staircase." French

Waldeinsamkeit: The feeling of being alone in the woods. German

Meraki: Doing something with soul, creativity, or love. Greek

Forelsket: The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love.Norwegian

Gigil: The urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute.Filipino

Pochemuchka: A...

CarrollBlog 9.8

STATIONS

by Audre Lorde

Some women love

to wait

for life for a ring

in the June light for a touch

of the sun to heal them for another

woman's voice to make them whole

to untie their hands

put words in their mouths

form to their passages sound

to their screams for some other sleeper

to remember their future their past.

Some women wait for the right

train in the wrong station

in the alleys of morning

for the noon to holler

the night come down.

Some women wait for...

CarrollBlog 9.6

Always

by Pablo Neruda

I am not jealous

of what came before me.

Come with a man

on your shoulders,

come with a hundred men in your hair,

come with a thousand men between your breasts and your feet,

come like a river

full of drowned men

which flows down to the wild sea,

to the eternal surf, to Time!

Bring them all

to where I am waiting for you;

we shall always be alone,

we shall always be you and I

alone on earth

to start our life!