Everything is conspiring around you:the waters, the fabrics have been thickening,the golds and the browns prepare their volumes.There comes a day of sun and then a day of snow,There is a deceptive real-life colour.Mirrors and cars fly past,Everything rushing to some centre.The centre of your life where you have never beenAntonio Jose Ponte in Para Ana Olivares
.
P:
We come from a distant past that we've forgotten,
and now we look up to the sky at the stars,
we are the mystery that even we can't decipher,
the mystery of man
the story is told in stone and broken arrows,
in traces of cities unknown, lost in sand,
in columns and castle walls, silent in unseen statues,
the history of man.
Sarah Vaughan 'The Mystery of Man'.
(DPS)
On the way to some placeWhy was I in such a hurry?Expecting pain from elsewhereIt found me where I felt most strong
Memories escape me now andI’m holding on to nothingNah - I ain’t got nothingBut for once nothing might be enough.
(sea girls)
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to eachI do not think that they will sing to meI have seen them riding seaward on the wavesCombing the white hair of the waves blown backWhen the wind blows the waters white and black .We have lingered in the chambers of the seaBy sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brownTill human voices wake us, and we drown.T.S. Eliot ‘The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock’
So long have we known each otherSo little do we knowThe Family (Prince) – Desire P
On a nightrideFalling stars, moon: lemon slice –Dreaming out loudof the simple lifeOh, but the GrindSomeone said somethingbut I didn’t have a pencil on meNo, I didn’t have a pencilSo, I decidedto take it in
DPS
the boyracer's CAKE mixtape:
carbon monoxide
the distance
stick shifts and safety belts
satan is my motor
long line of cars
To be yourself, just yourself, is a great thing
Henry Miller ‘The Smile at the Foot Of the Ladder’
tiny tunes for the spheres
multum, non multa (Pliny)
I thought about my small victories and everything I’d seen destroyed, I’d swum through mink coats on my parents’ bed while they hosted downstairs, I’d lost the only person I could have spent my only life with, I’d left behind a thousand tons of marble, I could have released sculptures, I could have released myself from the marble of myself. I’d experienced joy, but not nearly enough, could there be enough?Jonathan Safran Foer
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close