tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70858943468400085442010-01-31T16:50:44.101-08:00secret, fragile skies…fixed like a galaxy and memorized in her secret and fragile skies. Leonard Cohensecret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.comBlogger152125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-6574703753887182902010-01-26T07:15:00.000-08:002010-01-26T07:22:36.588-08:00The Impossible<span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><div><div><h3 class="ecxpost-title ecxentry-title"><span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://queensink.blogspot.com/2009/08/through-looking-glass_24.html" target="_blank"><br /></a> </span></h3><div class="ecxpost-body ecxentry-content"><span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t88ClCM-U8Y/SpMQf6NgDRI/AAAAAAAAAF8/-cz58irQ_Pw/s1600-h/RedQueen.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" id="ecxBLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373656920771005714" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t88ClCM-U8Y/SpMQf6NgDRI/AAAAAAAAAF8/-cz58irQ_Pw/s320/RedQueen.jpg" style="display: block; height: 611px; text-align: center; width: 550px;" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">There is no use trying, said Alice; one can't believe impossible things.</span></span></span><br /><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-size: small;"></span><span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-size: small;">I dare say you haven't had much practice, said the Queen. When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-size: x-small;">from <a href="http://queensink.blogspot.com/2009/08/through-looking-glass_24.html">here</a></span><br /></div><span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Impossible-Georges-Bataille/dp/0872862623">The Impossible</a>&nbsp;</span> <br /></span><br /></div></div></div></div><span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: #010101; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-657470375388718290?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-20145141771615531692010-01-25T11:07:00.000-08:002010-01-25T11:09:07.930-08:00Haiti revisited: June 15, 2008 - before the earthquake...<div class="image" id="wideImage"><img alt="" border="0" height="450" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2008/06/15/weekinreview/15mcnail.xlarge1.jpg" width="700" /> <br /><div class="credit" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Haitians searching for food or anything else at a dump. Rising food prices led to riots in April. Most Haitians earn less than $2 a day.<br /></div><div class="caption" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><nyt_byline type=" " version="1.0"> </nyt_byline></span><br /></div><div class="byline"><br /></div><div class="byline"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Malthus Redux:<br /></span><br /></div><div class="byline"><span style="font-size: x-small;">&nbsp;By <a href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/m/donald_g_jr_mcneil/index.html?inline=nyt-per" title="More Articles by Donald G. Mcneil Jr. ">DONALD G. McNEIL Jr. </a></span><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span> <br /><div class="timestamp" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published: June 15, 2008</span><br /></div><div class="caption" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/15/weekinreview/15mcneil.html" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Tyler Hicks/The New York Times</a></span> <br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-2014514177161553169?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-2350791519631786322010-01-21T08:00:00.001-08:002010-01-21T08:08:27.747-08:00good intentionswhat you need to know about donating to Haiti:<br /><a href="http://informationincontext.typepad.com/good_intentions_are_not_e/">good intentions are not enough</a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/S1h6YyCvXwI/AAAAAAAABoQ/JRoWzKY8qho/s1600-h/haitic2d79afbcd_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/S1h7wKXnNfI/AAAAAAAABoY/7jQyGRTTisw/s1600-h/haitic2d79afbcd_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/S1h7wKXnNfI/AAAAAAAABoY/7jQyGRTTisw/s640/haitic2d79afbcd_o.jpg" /></a><br /></div><h1 style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don’t send shoes, send money. Don’t send baby formula, send money. Don’t send old coats, send money.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></h1><h1><span style="font-size: x-small;">more: <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/21/us/21charity.html">NY Times </a></span>&nbsp;</h1><h1><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/16536699@N07/4278014281/">image</a></span></h1><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-235079151963178632?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-70006483594043814402010-01-17T09:24:00.000-08:002010-01-17T11:36:27.028-08:00Before<div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">It was a sad song - I mean to say that she was sad and that she didn't know any other kind of song. She didn't sing loud and it was a song with no words, her mouth shut the song sticking in her throat like a moan... so what do you want? She sang as the black girls do, as if you're smothering a sob, and this song always ends by beginning again because it is made in the image of misery, and tell me, will misery ever end?" <br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Jacques Roumain, "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Masters-Dew-Jacques-Roumain/dp/0435987453">Gouverneurs de la Rosée"</a> ("Masters of the Dew") Translation by </i></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/17/weekinreview/17bell.html">MADISON SMARTT BEL<i>L</i></a><i><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/17/weekinreview/17bell.html"> </a></i></span><br /></div><br /><a class="imgHov" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=7085894346840008544&amp;postID=2564799402983181153"><br /><img alt="A Haitian woman reselling cigarettes and candies in the La Saline market (Port-au-Prince, Haiti)." src="http://www.jansochor.com/photo-blog/woman-selling-cigarettes-market-haiti-10.jpg" /></a><br /><hr class="photoblog" /><div class="photoblog" id="centrBox"><div class="photoblog" id="nameTop"><h1 class="photoblog" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">The street of the La Saline market (Port-au-Prince, Haiti).</i></span><br /></h1><a class="imgHov" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=7085894346840008544&amp;postID=2564799402983181153"> <br /><img alt="The street of the La Saline market (Port-au-Prince, Haiti)." src="http://www.jansochor.com/photo-blog/street-downtown-port-au-prince-02.jpg" /></a><br /><h4 style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">&nbsp;</span>Every day thousands of women from all over the city of Port-au-Prince try to resell supplies and food from questionable sources in the La Saline market. The informal sector significantly predominate within the poor Haitian economics and the regular shops virtually do not exist. La Saline is the largest street market area in Port-au-Prince. [July, 2008]<br /></h4><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.jansochor.com/" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;" target="_self" title="Jan Sochor Photography">Photography</a><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> Copyright ©&nbsp;2002-2010- more:</span><a href="http://www.jansochor.com/photo-blog.aspx?id=women-la-saline-market-haiti" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> Jan Sochor</a></span><br /></div></div><div class="vertFooter phB"><a class="top" href="http://www.jansochor.com/photo-blog.aspx?id=women-la-saline-market-haiti#topPage" title="Back to top"><br /></a><br /><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/17/weekinreview/17bell.html"><nyt_headline type=" " version="1.0">Haiti in Ink and Tears: A Literary Sampler</nyt_headline></a>, </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">By MADISON SMARTT BELL</span><br /></div><h1 class="articleHeadline" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">more:<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/17/weekinreview/17bell.html?ref=todayspaper"> NY Times&nbsp;</a></span></h1><h1 class="articleHeadline" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">DONATE&nbsp;<a href="http://www.charitywater.org/"> HERE</a><br /></span></h1><a class="top" href="http://www.jansochor.com/photo-blog.aspx?id=women-la-saline-market-haiti#topPage" title="Back to top"> </a><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-7000648359404381440?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-84592444492648713452010-01-15T15:26:00.000-08:002010-01-15T15:28:31.436-08:00Iron Flowers<blockquote style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><img alt="Spot News: 1st prize singles by ..page│zhang.." class="reflect" onload="show_notes_initially();" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1220/527272268_4dd2c5d8e7.jpg" style="height: 445px; width: 669px;" title="" /><br /></blockquote><blockquote style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">sluggish, semi-stagnant<br />the water in Haitian gutters,<br />small gullets, trickles green,<br />sewerage green, here even<br />the dirt is poor and<br />there is a cloying dullness<br />camouflaging even strongly<br />persistent colors<br /></blockquote><blockquote style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">in squared, white walled<br />cemeteries<br />funeral flowers are made of<br />painted iron/ i see no roses<br />rising through this Port<br />Au Prince poverty<br /></blockquote><blockquote style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">i hesitate to take pictures<br />it is like thievery<br />almost like<br />i am stealing precious light<br />that these, my brothers and sister,<br />need to live<br /></blockquote><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1263598100614"><br /></a></span><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="http://www.webster.edu/%7Ecorbetre/haiti/notes/salaam.htm">IRON FLOWERS</a> A POETIC REPORT ON A VISIT TO HAITI</i>,&nbsp; Kalamu ya Salaam.</span><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1979</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zhangwking/527272268/">image</a> <br /></span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-8459244449264871345?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-2657675252590018762010-01-07T06:22:00.000-08:002010-01-07T06:35:05.992-08:00ghostly heart<img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2008/2496149978_b603123129_o.jpg" /><br /><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><i></i><i style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams--not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart</i>. <br /></div><div class="quoteText"><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">F. Scott Fitzgerald</span><br /></div><div class="quoteText" style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">image © All rights reserved. : <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tompalumbo/2496149978/sizes/o/">tom palumbo</a>&nbsp; </span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-265767525259001876?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-63320651059073655362010-01-05T17:28:00.000-08:002010-01-05T17:28:08.469-08:00Everything is strange.<img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3178/2853740841_67309226bb_o.jpg" /> <br /><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3051/3036577845_6c4a837bdc_o.png" /><br /><br />&nbsp;<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/32468056@N07/3036577845/sizes/o/">The Waves</a>, Virginia Woolf<br />&nbsp;<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jujucalhau/2853740841/sizes/o/in/set-72157606186847174/">image</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-6332065105907365536?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-20750262207740630612010-01-04T14:10:00.000-08:002010-01-04T14:32:54.006-08:00Toys<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/S0JoAGjCQcI/AAAAAAAABno/rAlEjYFEtrM/s1600-h/mouse.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423011252274348482" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/S0JoAGjCQcI/AAAAAAAABno/rAlEjYFEtrM/s400/mouse.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 824px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 569px;" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">"Why doesn't everybody see from childhood the passes, doors and crevices on the ground and above in the sky? If everybody saw them there would be history without murder or war</span>. <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">&nbsp;</span><br /><cite></cite><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span><cite><i>—</i></cite><i><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Handke</span></i><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">We wanted something appealing, and we thought of a tiny bit of a mouse that would have something of the wistfulness of Chaplin — a little fellow trying to do the best he could. When people laugh at Mickey Mouse, it’s because he’s so human; and that is the secret of his popularity. I only hope that we don’t lose sight of one thing — that it was all started by a mouse.</span><br /><cite><i>—</i> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Walt Disney </span></cite><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">NY Times: <a href="http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/01/03/it-was-all-started-by-a-mouse-part-1/?ref=opinion&amp;8ty&amp;emc=ty">toys</a><br /><a href="http://movie.subtitlr.com/subtitle/show/65096">Wings of Desire</a><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-2075026220774063061?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-35467995633190602132010-01-03T08:28:00.000-08:002010-01-17T12:08:26.413-08:00"This is water, this is water."<div class="photo-note" id="photo-note-72157623001934659" style="left: 48px; top: 44px;"><div class="note-text" style="top: 113px;"><br /></div></div><div id="comm_div" style="display: none; 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width: 502px;"><img alt="Points of View by sibemolle." class="reflect" height="333" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3660/3346431158_8e773ea9c4.jpg" title="" width="500" /><script type="text/javascript"> Y.E.onDOMReady(show_notes_initially);</script> <br /></div><script type="text/javascript"> F.decorate(_ge('photo_notes'), F._photo_notes).notes_go_go_go(3346431158, 'http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3660/3346431158_8e773ea9c4_t.jpg', '3.1444');</script> <br /><form id="fave_form" method="post" style="visibility: hidden;"><input name="magic_cookie" type="hidden" value="51e768ad83813180ab4e862b167eb8e5" /><input name="faveadd" type="hidden" value="0" /><input name="faveremove" type="hidden" value="0" /><br /></form><span id="noteCount"></span><noscript></noscript> <br /><h3><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></h3><h3><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 78%; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">There are these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, "Morning, boys, how's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, "What the hell is water?"</span></span><br /></h3><span style="font-size: 85%;">:<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sibemolle99/3346431158/">image</a><br /><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/sep/20/fiction">David Foster Wallace</a></span><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122178211966454607.html">This is Water </a><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-3546799563319060213?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-86531550507342995692009-12-31T09:23:00.000-08:002009-12-31T10:08:11.471-08:00Happy New Year<img style="width: 694px; height: 520px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/28/40998544_8d3b7dd770_o.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">every day, every day i hear</span><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">enough to fill</div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">a year of nights with wondering.</div><span style="white-space: pre;" class="ecxApple-tab-span"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;">- denise levertov<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dcreeves2000/40998544/sizes/o/">image</a></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-8653155050734299569?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-12765860570497304082009-12-30T11:11:00.000-08:002009-12-30T11:25:43.617-08:00Last chance...<img style="cursor: -moz-zoom-in;" alt="http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/kandinsky/pleasures/kandinsky.pleasures.jpg" src="http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/kandinsky/pleasures/kandinsky.pleasures.jpg" width="792" height="731" /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"There is still a point where the present, the now, winds around itself, and nothing is tangled. the river is not where it begins or ends, but right in the middle point, anchored by what has happened and what is to arrive. You can close your eyes and there will be a light snow falling in New York..."</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Let-Great-World-Spin-Novel/dp/1400063736">Let the Great World Spin</a>, Colum McCann<br /><a href="http://web.guggenheim.org/exhibitions/exhibition_pages/kandinsky/index.html">Kandinsky at the Guggenheim</a><br />through January 13, 2010</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-1276586057049730408?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-71814606335293205482009-12-28T09:42:00.000-08:002009-12-28T14:09:30.156-08:00one moment<p><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3038/3033584541_202f3b17bc_o.jpg" /></p><span style="font-style: italic;">one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/16932314@N04/3033584541/sizes/o/">image</a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Rilke:<a href="http://completeclassics.com/p/m/poem.asp?poem=31009&amp;poet=6608&amp;num=80&amp;total=122"> Sunset</a></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-7181460633529320548?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-3151776301752995262009-12-26T11:19:00.000-08:002009-12-26T12:16:25.767-08:00Wants<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzZurf5Oo9I/AAAAAAAABmo/yUZ-mUVDXCo/s1600-h/sea10246_d6a9ef5f17_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 614px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzZurf5Oo9I/AAAAAAAABmo/yUZ-mUVDXCo/s400/sea10246_d6a9ef5f17_o.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419640895161934802" /></a><br /><br style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"><br style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">You see, I want a lot.</span><br style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">Perhaps I want everything:</span><br style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">the darkness that comes with every infinite fall</span><br style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">and the shivering blaze of every step up.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.panhala.net/Archive/I_Want_A_Lot.html">Rilke</a><br /></span><br /><a href="http://hila-lumiere.blogspot.com/">:image</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-315177630175299526?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-10684634410160321262009-12-25T06:43:00.000-08:002009-12-25T06:44:02.190-08:00Merry Christmas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzPAWdIzbLI/AAAAAAAABlg/N9anZIO9_zA/s1600-h/img-thing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 808px; height: 808px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzPAWdIzbLI/AAAAAAAABlg/N9anZIO9_zA/s400/img-thing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418886268668046514" border="0"></a><br /><font style="font-style: italic;" face="trebuchet ms">it is not heard at all, but you are the music </font> <font style="font-style: italic;" face="trebuchet ms"> <br />while the music lasts</font><br /><br /><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/alt_girl_winter_snow_angels/thing?id=11979055">snow angel</a><br /><font size="2">T. S. Eliot "The Dry Salvages"</font><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-1068463441016032126?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-83231157302308224592009-12-24T09:02:00.000-08:002009-12-24T09:18:57.820-08:00The Snow Queen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzOezgdAZ-I/AAAAAAAABk4/xYmrVl8tFlw/s1600-h/Russian_Snow_Queen_by_Annaweb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 676px; height: 800px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzOezgdAZ-I/AAAAAAAABk4/xYmrVl8tFlw/s400/Russian_Snow_Queen_by_Annaweb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418849384378951650" /></a><br />He was dragging along some pointed flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures were extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit of glass which was in his eye caused this. He found whole figures which represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just the word he wanted–that word was “eternity”; and the Snow Queen had said, “If you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master, and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new skates.”<br /><br /><a href="http://">The Snow Queen<a href="http://www.tonightsbedtimestory.com/the-snow-queen/"></a></a><br /><a href="http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs39/f/2008/352/2/c/Russian_Snow_Queen_by_Annaweb.jpg">Russian Snow Queen</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-8323115730230822459?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-33202269837126163772009-12-22T16:23:00.000-08:002009-12-23T06:55:22.153-08:00Angels among us<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzFncYcU3PI/AAAAAAAABkY/-Cjn0tTF1UI/s1600-h/tumblr_kv03szaS5g1qzhl9eo1_500_large.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 700px; height: 561px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SzFncYcU3PI/AAAAAAAABkY/-Cjn0tTF1UI/s400/tumblr_kv03szaS5g1qzhl9eo1_500_large.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418225563998674162" /></a><br /><br />When the child was a child, it was the time of these questions. Why am I me, and why not you? Why am I here, and why not there? When did time begin, and where does space end? Isn't life under the sun just a dream? Isn't what I see, hear, and smell just the mirage of a world before the world? Does evil actually exist, and are there people who are really evil? How can it be that I, who am I, wasn't before I was, and that sometime I, the one I am, no longer will be the one I am?....<br /><br /><br />It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees<br />with an elation it still has today,<br />has a shyness in front of strangers,<br />and has that even now.<br />It awaited the first snow,<br />And waits that way even now. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.wim-wenders.com/movies/movies_spec/wingsofdesire/wod-song-of-childhood.htm"><br />Wings of Desire</a><br /><a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/1186997">weheartit</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-3320226983712616377?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-64179241811617389282009-12-18T19:58:00.001-08:002009-12-18T19:58:57.598-08:00Christmas Card to Grace Hartigan <!-- entry list sticky --><p><font face="'Trebuchet MS'"> <br /></font></p><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS',Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><a href="http://www.whatpossessedme.com/.a/6a0111688f7c55970c0128757b72eb970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="color: blue ! important; text-decoration: underline ! important; cursor: text ! important; display: inline;"><img alt="Markyankus" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a0111688f7c55970c0128757b72eb970c " src="http://www.whatpossessedme.com/.a/6a0111688f7c55970c0128757b72eb970c-500wi" style="border-style: none; cursor: pointer ! important; width: 470px;"></a> <br /> <br /><font size="2"> <br /><a href="http://marcyankus.com/site/poster/">marc yankus</a></font> <br /></span></span></span> <br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span>There's no holly, but there is <br />the glass and granite towers <br />and the white stone lions <br />and the pale violet clouds. And <br />the great tree of balls in <br />Rockefeller Plaza is public. <br /> <br />Christmas is green and general <br />like all great works of the <br />imagination, swelling from minute <br />private sentiments in the desert, <br />a wreath around our intimacy <br />like children's voices in a park. <br /> <br />For red there is our blood <br />which, like your smile, must be <br />protected from spilling into <br />generality by secret meanings, <br />the lipstick of life hidden <br />in a handbag against violations. <br /> <br />Christmas is the time of cold air <br />and loud parties and big expense, <br />but in our hearts flames flicker <br />answeringly, as on old-fashioned <br />trees. I would rather the house <br />burn down than our flames go out.</span> <br />Frank O'Hara<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-6417924181161738928?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-37403922994807070582009-12-05T21:23:00.001-08:002009-12-05T21:32:11.588-08:00Snow<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MUWMjUjit_U&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MUWMjUjit_U&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />The day of our first snowfall...<br />Blechman via:<a href="http://evencleveland.blogspot.com/">evencleveland</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-3740392299480707058?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-42291959520292301012009-12-01T15:51:00.000-08:002009-12-01T15:52:21.987-08:00Winter<img style="width: 580px; height: 867px;" src="http://media.tumblr.com/7cHlz7Mdhhtmuksr7b4z52Qoo1_400.jpg" alt="" /><br /><div id="crosscol-wrapper" style="text-align: center;"> </div> <div class="status-msg-wrap"> <div class="status-msg-body"> <a href="http://thedrifterandthegypsy.blogspot.com/"><br /></a> </div> <div class="status-msg-border"> <div class="status-msg-bg"> <div class="status-msg-hidden"><a href="http://thedrifterandthegypsy.blogspot.com/"><br /></a></div> </div> </div> </div> <!-- google_ad_section_start --> <div class="post hentry"> <a name="9186243482569753016"></a></div><img style="width: 581px; height: 581px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2222/2148662384_7000cd151c.jpg?v=0" alt="" /><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> "I have spent my life watching, not to see beyond the world, merely to see, great mystery, what is plainly before my eyes. I think the concept of transcendence is based on a misreading of creation. With all respect to heaven, the scene of the miracle is here, among us. The eternal as an idea is much less preposterous than time, and this very fact should seize our attention." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Marilynne Robinson<br />images: <a href="http://thedrifterandthegypsy.blogspot.com/">the drifter and the gypsy</a></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-4229195952029230101?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-81141785949138502492009-11-24T08:59:00.000-08:002009-11-24T09:04:20.331-08:00Thanksgiving 2009<div id="button_bar" class=""><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mllemathilde/3543004577/#addtofaves" onclick="this.blur();return false" id="photo_gne_button_add_to_faves" class="photo_gne_button sprite-add_to_faves_grey" style="width: 54px; cursor: pointer;" alt="Add to faves"> </a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mllemathilde/3543004577/#addtogallery" onclick="this.blur(); 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-moz-border-radius-bottomright: 3px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 3px;" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td class="td_white"></td><td class="td_white" style="padding: 3px 0px 0px;" valign="top" width="1"><img id="comm_pulser_img" src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/pulser2.gif" border="0" height="15" width="32" /></td><td class="td_white" style="padding: 3px; font-size: 12px;" id="comm_td"></td><td class="td_white"></td></tr><tr id="comm_button_tr"><td class="td_white"></td><td class="td_white"></td><td class="td_white" style="padding: 3px;"><form><nobr><input id="comm_button_ok" class="Butt" value="OK" onclick="this.onclick_func();" style="margin: 5px 5px 0pt 0pt;" type="button"><input id="comm_button_cancel" class="CancelButt" value="Cancel" onclick="this.onclick_func();" style="margin: 5px 5px 0pt 0pt;" type="button"></nobr></form></td><td class="td_white"></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="z-index: 1003; display: none;" id="rotate_div"><div id="rotate_table" style="padding: 1px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; width: 218px; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 3px; -moz-border-radius-topright: 3px; -moz-border-radius-bottomright: 3px; -moz-border-radius-bottomleft: 3px;"><div class="td_note_white" style="padding: 0px; text-align: center; margin-top: 3px;"><span id="rotate_span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12px;"></span></div></div></div><div style="z-index: 999; display: none;" id="shadow_div"><table class="shadow_table" style="padding: 0px;" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td width="11"><img src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_tl" height="11" width="11" /></td><td id="shadow_width_controller"><img src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_t" height="11" width="100%" /></td><td width="11"><img src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_tr" height="11" width="11" /></td></tr><tr><td id="shadow_height_controller" height="30"><img src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_l" height="100%" width="11" /></td><td></td><td><img src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_r" height="100%" width="11" /></td></tr><tr><td><img src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_bl" height="11" width="11" /></td><td><img id="shadow_width_controller2" src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_b" height="11" width="100%" /></td><td><img src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceout.gif" class="shadow_sprite shadow_br" height="11" width="11" /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div id="photoImgDiv3543004577" style="width: 502px;" class="photoImgDiv"> <img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2059/3543004577_250282deef.jpg" alt="The silent by Mlle Mathilde." title="" onload="show_notes_initially();" class="reflect" height="500" width="500" /><img style="position: relative; top: -502px; margin-bottom: -502px; display: block;" src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/spaceball.gif" alt="" height="500" width="500" /></div></div><div id="description_div3543004577" class="photoDescription"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >The Dying Man: The Far East. The Great North. The Wild West. The Great Bear Lake. Tristan da Cunha. The Mississippi Delta. Stromboli. The old houses of Charlottenburg. Albert Camus. The morning light. The child's eyes. The swim in the waterfall. The spots of the first drops of rain. The sun. The bread and wine. Hopping. Easter. The veins of leaves. The blowing grass. The color of stones. The pebbles on the stream's bed. The white tablecloth outdoors. The dream of the house in the house. The dear one asleep in the next room. The peaceful Sundays. The horizon. The light from the room in the garden. The night flight. Riding a bicycle with no hands. The beautiful stranger. My father. My mother. My wife. My child. </span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> " The Sky above Berlin " 1987 W. Wenders<br />:<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mllemathilde/3543004577/">flickr</a><br /></span></div><script type="text/javascript">F.decorate(_ge('photo_notes'), F._photo_notes).notes_go_go_go(3543004577, 'http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2059/3543004577_250282deef_t.jpg', '3.1444');</script><form id="fave_form" method="post" style="visibility: hidden; font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;"><input name="magic_cookie" value="51e768ad83813180ab4e862b167eb8e5" type="hidden"><input name="faveadd" value="0" type="hidden"><input name="faveremove" value="0" type="hidden"></form></div> <!-- PHOTO CONTENT: DESCRIPTION, NOTES, COMMENTS --><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-8114178594913850249?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-7183140018235435952009-11-11T15:57:00.000-08:002009-11-11T15:58:10.876-08:00Repost because...<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-bromwich/americas-wars-how-serial_b_242347.html" style="text-decoration: none ! important;" target="_blank"><img style="width: 591px; height: 375px;" alt="2009-07-22-war.jpg" src="http://images.huffingtonpost.com/2009-07-22-war.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the near-necessities were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military Payment Certificates, C rations, and two or three canteens of water. Together, these items weighed between 15 and 20 pounds, depending upon a man’s habits or rate of metabolism. Henry Dobbins, who was a big man, carried extra rations; he was especially fond of canned peaches in heavy syrup over pound cake. Dave Jensen, who practiced field hygiene, carried a toothbrush, dental floss, and several hotel-sized bars of soap he’d stolen on R&amp;R in Sydney, Australia. Ted Lavender, who was scared, carried tranquilizers until he was shot in the head outside the village of Than Khe in mid-April. By necessity, and because it was SOP, they all carried steel helmets that weighed 5 pounds including the liner and camouflage cover. They carried the standard fatigue jackets and trousers. Very few carried underwear. On their feet they carried jungle boots – 2.1 pounds – and Dave Jensen carried three pairs of socks and a can of Dr. School’s foot powder as a precaution against trench foot. Until he was shot, Ted Lavender carried 6 or 7 ounces of premium dope, which for him was a necessity. Mitchel Sanders, the RTO, carried condoms. Norman Bowker carried a diary. Rat Kiley carried comic books. Kiowa, a devout Baptist, carried an illustrated New Testament that had been presented to him by his father, who taught at Sunday school in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. As a hedge against bad times, however, Kiowa also carried his grandmother’s distrust of the white man, his grandfather’s old hunting hatchet. Necessity dictated. Because the land was mined and booby-trapped, it was SOP for each man to carry steel-centered, nylon-covered flak jacket, which weighed 6.7 pounds, but which on hot days seemed much heavier. Because you could die so quickly, each man carried at least one large compress bandage, usually in the helmet band for easy access. Because the nights were cold, and becauses the monsoons were wet, each carried a green plastic poncho that could be used as a raincoat or groundsheet or makeshift tent. With its quilted liner, the poncho weighed almost 2 pounds, but it was worth every ounce. In April, for instance, when Ted Lavender was shot, they used his poncho to wrap him up, then to carry him across the paddy, then to lift him into the chopper that took him away.” </span>–<span style="font-weight: bold;"> The Things They Carried</span>, Tim O'Brien<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-718314001823543595?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-36397062226478870862009-10-31T15:34:00.001-07:002009-12-01T15:20:50.809-08:00Isaura<div style="text-align: center;"><p style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" align="center"><img style="width: 545px; height: 545px;" src="http://blackboard.newschool.edu/webapps/lobj-journal-bb_bb60/blog/NARH.3880.A.Online.Su09.1858/_439114_1/Home?cmd=GetImage&amp;systemId=TragicMadelaineEtsy__0.jpg" alt="" /><br /></p><p style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Isaura, city of a thousand wells, is presumed to lie above a deep underground lake. All around, where the inhabitants have been able to find water by digging long vertical holes, up to there and no further the city extends: its verdant perimeter repeats that of the dark shores of the buried lake; an invisible landscape conditions the visible one; everything that moves in the sunlight is driven by the lapping wave enclosed beneath the rock's calcareous sky.</span><br /></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;"><br />Consequently there are two types of religion in Isaura. Some say the city's gods live deep below in the lake which feeds the subterranean veins. Others say the gods live in the buckets which rise up hanging from rope, in the pulleys which turn, in the pump-levers, in the narrow arches of the aqueducts, in all the columns of water, the vertical pipes, the plungers, the drains, all the way up to the weathercocks that surmount the airy scaffoldings of Isaura, a city that moves entirely upward. </span></p></div><br /><p><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"> INVISIBLE CITIES</span>, Italo Calvino</p><p>photo:<a href="http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=14747074"> Tragic</a><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-3639706222647887086?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-37883570442357363652009-10-20T07:59:00.000-07:002009-10-20T14:42:50.232-07:00Our truest life is in our dreams awake<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SpobDqSvBNI/AAAAAAAABco/1NfCQ4p4YjI/s1600-h/art,photography,sad,snow,umbrella,inspiration,polaroid-077c02cc5af673f94aff4a5f59ecfe6d_h.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 695px; height: 695px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Nf4JRVgqGyU/SpobDqSvBNI/AAAAAAAABco/1NfCQ4p4YjI/s400/art,photography,sad,snow,umbrella,inspiration,polaroid-077c02cc5af673f94aff4a5f59ecfe6d_h.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375638854926533842" border="0" /></a><br /><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;"> "Mere forgetfullness cannot remove it</span></em></p> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;">Nor wishing bring it back, as long as it remains</span></em></p> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;">The white precipitate of its dream</span></em></p> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;">In the climate of sighs flung across our world,</span></em></p> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;">A cloth over a birdcage. But it is certain that</span></em></p> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;">What is beautiful seems so only in relation to a specific</span></em></p> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;">Life, experienced or not, channeled into some form</span></em></p> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;">Steeped in the nostalgia of a collected past." </span></em></p> <p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;"> from: SELF-PORTRAIT IN A CONVEX MIRROR</span></p> <p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms,geneva;"> John Ashbery </span></p><span style="font-size:85%;">:the drifter and the gypsy<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Thoreau</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-3788357044235736365?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-14541846523995031622009-10-15T17:29:00.000-07:002009-10-16T11:16:31.117-07:00Pay attention<p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/7591/2992/1600/kt-02.jpg"><img style="width: 594px; height: 464px;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/7591/2992/400/kt-02.jpg" border="0" /></a> </p><img style="width: 602px; height: 476px;" src="http://www.photoloop.com/images/prints/pht00456.jpg" title="Child at Camp for Children of Chernobyl, Lviv, Ukraine, 1991" alt="Child at Camp for Children of Chernobyl, Lviv, Ukraine, 1991" class="img" align="middle" border="0" /><br /><a style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;" name="glance">Your glance will trip on my shadow</a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > and the shadow</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > will thrust itself</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > into the leafy shade.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > The pale sun will shine over us,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > a lantern</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > scorched by the burning question . . .</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > Caught by the gravity of the light,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > breathing is choked, lips are pressed,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > and there is no answer,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > no answer</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > to this light in the violent night.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > But freed from gravity our shadows</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > shook the jasmine bush,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > they will drift apart,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > breathe night haze at our backs.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > And the yellow leaf will fall exhausted,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > it will take unbearably long to inhale.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > As if the wisdom of autumn</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > were to catch us by surprise . . </span><br /><h1><span style="font-size:78%;">Chernobyl Poems<a href="http://www.wsu.edu/%7Ebrians/chernobyl_poems/chernobyl_poems.html"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:arial;" > : Liubov Sirota</span></span></a></span></h1><em>“In other words, we rely upon the overly simple circle which has as its content the passing present and as its shape the part of reminiscence. However, the order of time, time as a pure and empty form, has precisely undone that circle. It has undone it in favour of a less simple and much more secret, much more torturous, more nebulous circle…” </em>– Gilles Deleuze<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Child at camp for children of Chernobyl, Bruhovich, Ukraine </span>Gelatin Silver Print199</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.yossimilogallery.com/artists/kath_turc/?show=0&amp;img_num=0#title">images:Katherine Turczan</a><span style="font-family:arial;">, <a href="http://www.photoloop.com/photographerview.php?id=230&amp;sid=">more</a><br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-1454184652399503162?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085894346840008544.post-10078708608126016192009-10-09T20:56:00.000-07:002009-10-09T21:08:47.510-07:00Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace<img style="width: 629px; height: 715px;" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2009/10/09/world/09nobel-500.jpg" alt="" /><img src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/misc/spacer.gif" height="1" width="20" /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“The question we have to ask is who has done the most in the previous year to enhance peace in the world,” the Nobel committee chairman, Thorbjorn Jagland, said in Oslo after the announcement. “And who has done more than Barack Obama?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Amen.</span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><br /> <br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/10/world/10nobel.html?hp">Buddha<br />New York Times</a></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7085894346840008544-1007870860812601619?l=www.secretfragileskies.com' alt='' /></div>secret, fragile skieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04463225545455119563agelessbeautyalways@gmail.com5