We can look into the stove tonight
as into a mirror, yes,
the serrated log, the yellow-blue gaseous core
the crimson-flittered grey ash, yes.
I know inside my eyelids
and underneath my skin
Time takes hold of us like a draft
upward, drawing at the heats
in the belly, in the brain
You told me of setting your hand
into the print of a long-dead Indian
and for a moment, I knew that hand,
that print, that rock,
the sun producing powerful dreams
A word can do this
or, as tonight, the mirror of the fire
of my mind, burning as if it could go on
burning itself, burning down
feeding on everything
till there is nothing in life
that has not fed that fire
by Adrienne Rich
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Butthole Surfers - Who Was In My Room Last Night?
Obviously, the arrival of my PS4 has pretty much ensured an excellent week for me. It’s an incredible piece of hardware and I’m 100% happy backing Sony once again. Anyway. I’ll try not to bang on about it too much! Apart from gaming, I’ve been doing a little Christmas shopping for my nearest and dearest. As usual, it’s a purely online affair. I have no desire to jostle with braindead masses in the aisles. Fuck that. It’s the first time many years that I’m not working in retail, I plan on enjoying it. Toodles.
Joan As Police Woman - Human Condition
If you dissect a bird
To diagram the tongue
You’ll cut the chord
If you flay a beast
To marvel at the mane
You’ll wreck the rest
From which the fur began.
If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You’ll halt the clock
That syncopates our love.
by Sylvia Plath