sea within a sea

QOTS:

"It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:
American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.
The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.
When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.
The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn't in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed."

stopped along the side-walk, hair drenched with rain, he bent down to read the grass; and kept on walking, retracing his steps the grass had more to say and then he continued on his way - friday night and my dad is upset and my dog is asleep.

Your beauty
is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green
Your smile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you, jolene
He talks about you in his sleep
Theres nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, jolene

i do i do appreciate her every glow and how, oh how she seems to know- that with every light a shadow must lay and with every bone a garment must hang

it's kind of like if the clouds clear and the sun shines on my hair and in my eyes and all around me it somehow is italy in the 1950's and somehow it just is where i belong

all the am's and pm's

6.) the tops of heads touch the stumps of trees 7.) the tops of trees grow toward the moon 8.) and the moon has its roots in the ground

i got this for you, for hannah,
ah, sentimentality!

the recluse

a slightly feminine, anemic, elderly man shoves his body weight into pushing forward his lawn-mower, he pulls back and pushes forth the mower over a little patch of dead grass.

a happy, young, toothless woman sweetly, softly hums a little sing-song lullaby. each note of tiny dancer sounds pretty and breathy and Glad.

a warm-skinned child is alone somewhere. on a highspeed-train and on a grey-blue bus the boy travels. he goes to the coast, somewhere far, and runs to the sea and up to the crashing white-capped tide. his freckled body is naked beneath a brown fox fur-coat. his nimble fingers double check each button and he crawls slowly into the deep. someone somewhere kneels on the bottom of the sea, his hands quickly feeling the briny floor soothing his palms. he crawls out again and rises up from the ocean, his sodden fur clings to his frame. he crashes softly into the ecru flecks of sand and supports his neck in his hands.
Back home lace shade curtains flutter gently, gracefully; a traditional, colloquial woman is seen sipping from behind a cup of earl grey. and when the peppy boychild would hum or wistle she would spill her tea and then quicklycleanitup.
Later, at the park, the boy's fur begins to dry under the beating orange globe's perspiration, whilst simultaneously melting his picnic lunch.
there are gobs of honey dripping onto his fur-coat,
he rubs it in with his oatmeal colored fingers, it creates a mixture with the coastal sand and hardens like concrete. and the boy begins to walk down the street with sweeping steps and a little skip and not a tiny hint of calamity. o'er head the sun and the blue blue bluesky are beating down on him so he squints up at it, and there is a tiny, low-hanging deep grey cloud and it travels toward him, and then with him.
he feels a single drop on his head then not a moment later the rain begins to pour so heavy; and on the boy's face a smile grows, bigger and ever expanding, the happy. the Happy recluse.

quote-of-the-saturday

QOTS: "a fair-sized maple tree stood in front of the girls' private school - one of four or five trees on that fortunate side of the street - and at the moment a child of seven or eight, female, was hiding behind it. She was wearing a navy-blue reefer and a tam that was very nearly the same shade of red as the blanket on the bed in van Gogh's room at Arles. Her tam did, in fact, from Zooey's vantage point, appear not unlike a dab of paint. Some fifteen feet away from the child, her dog- a young dachshund, wearing a green leather collar and leash -was sniffing to find her, scurrying in frantic circles, his leash dragging behind him. The anguish of separation of scarcely bearable for him, and when at last he picked up his mistress' scent, it wasn't a second too soon. The joy of reunion, for both, was immence. The dachshund gave a little yelp, then cringed forward, shimmying with ecstasy, till his mistress, shouting something at him, stepped hurriedly over the wire guard surrounding the tree and picked him up. She said a number of words of praise to him, in the private argot of the game, then put him down and picked up his leash, and the two walked gaily west, toward Fifth Avenue and the Park and out of Zooey's sight." - Salinger

somewhere

i have gladly
-traveled, beyond
gladly in the fog
gladly in the grass

watered-down gladness
laughter fluttering from high in the branches, near my arms- intertwined, thrown far above my head. + dangling laughter; ornamenting the trees

current mood:g-l-a-d
craze:fox fur
wrist:brown elastic, friendship bracelet
feet:white socks, grey sneakers

sky anatomy

- what i smell.
a tiny girl with a dead caterpillar in her freckled palm is staring at me as my nostrils go berserk.


+ whirling maple-tree seed-pods.

su casa es mi casa que se va su casa

it's kind of like if the clouds clear and the sun shines on my hair and in my eyes and all around me it somehow is italy in the 1950's and somehow it just is where i belong

quote-of-the-saturday

QOTS: "Moonlight spilled in the bunkhouse windows, competing with the lampshine that illuminated the pages of Mary's Holy Bible, Big Red's Ranch Romances and Debbie's The Way of Zen." - Robbins