"Music inflames temperament" 

Sunday May 15th, 2011

Caught up in a senseless wilderness. No stillness, no creativity.

from Iron Fist

"Dark night nothing to see
Invisible hand in front of me
Scared to death there's someone near
Scared to move but you can't stay here
You know me, evil eye
You know me, prepare to die
You know me, the snakebite kiss
Devil's grip, the Iron Fist
Flying horse don't make a sound
Flying hooves don't touch the ground
Walk in circle lose you track
Can't go on but you can't go back
You know me, evil eye
You know me, prepare to die
You know me, you can't resist
Devil's grip, the Iron Fist

Moon eclipse and you know why
Ghost rider in the sky
Beast of evil devil's hound
Tooth and claw they pull you down
You know me, evil eye
You know me, prepare to die
You know me, the graveyard kiss
Devil's grip, the Iron Fist"

pg. 30 (read aloud to yourself)

"ROSETTA said nothing but, placing a a nickel in the Wallomatic, selected
a sad little tune The Case is Closed (Tchaikovsky-Fink) and sang to it softly:


Deep in my dark the dream shines
Yes, of you, you dear always;
My cause to cry, cold but my
Story still, still my music.

Mild rose the moon, moving through our
Naked nights: tonight in rains;
Black umbrellas blossom out;
Gone the gold, my golden ball.

Heavy these hands, I believed
That pleased pause, your pause was me
To love alone till life's end:
I though this; this was not true.

You touched, you took.  Tears fall. O
Fair my far, when far ago
Like waterwheels wishes spun
Radiant robes: but the robes tore."

I was going to do the next quotation from "The Age of Anxiety" but I left my copy of it at work.

Opening to "The Age of Anxiety"

QUANT was thinking:

"My deuce, my double, my dear image,
Is it lively there, that land of glass
Where song is grimace, sound logic
A suite of gestures? You seem amused.
How well and witty when you wake up,
How glad and good when you go to bed,
Do you feel, my friend? What flavor has
That liquor you lift with your left hand;
Is it cold by contrast, cool as this
For a soiled soul; does your self like mine
Taste of untruth? Tell me, what are you
Hiding in your heart, some angel face,
Some shadowy she who stares in my absence,
Enjoys my jokes? I'm jealous, surely,
Nicer myself (though not as honest),
The marked man of romantic thrillers
Whose brow bears the brand of a winter
No priest can explain, the poet disguised,
Thinking over things in thieves' kitchens,
Wanted by the waste, whom women's love
Or his own silhouette might all too soon
Betray to its tortures. I'll track you down,
I'll make you confess how much you know who
View my vices with a valet's slight
But shameless shrug, the Shadenfreude
of cooks at keyholes. Old comrade, tell me
The lie of my lifetime but look me up in
Your good graces; agree to be friends
Till our deaths differ; drink, strange future,
to your neighbor now."

in strong winds
the colors of spring were blown
to the ground in fragments
marking the passing of time
without you