[Image: “X-ray with foreign bodies (Reeve 43065),” from the collection of the U.S. National Museum of Health and Medicine. (Found on Flickr, of course, and used here under a Creative Commons license — thank you!) The Flickr caption says, “X-ray with foreign bodies present. ‘Photograph #3. Shows from above downward, the following articles: bed spring, teaspoon bent upon itself, metal door fixtures, another bed spring, and parts from a door lock.'” Frustratingly, it doesn’t identify the type of animal which managed to consume all this hardware!]
From whiskey river:
Daydreaming doesn’t make things up. It sees things. Claims things, twirls them around, takes a good look. Possesses them. Embraces them. Makes something of them. Makes sense. Or music. How restful it is, how full of motion. My first paradox. I couldn’t care less what it’s called. It’s pure pleasure. Infinite delight… This is what is called the life of the mind. It’s what I want to do. It’s where I want to be. Right here.
(Patricia Hampl [source])
…and:
A Prayer for Rain
Let it come down: these thicknesses of air
have long enough walled love away from love;
stillness has hardened until words despair
of their high leaps and kisses shut themselves
back into wishing. Crippled lovers lie
against a weather which holds out on them,
waiting, awaiting some shrill sign, some cry,
some screaming cat that smells a sacrifice
and spells them thunder. Start the mumbling lips,
syllable by monotonous syllable,
that wash away the sullen griefs of love
and drown out knowledge of an ancient war—
o, ill-willed dark, give with the sound of rain,
let love be brought to ignorance again.
(Lisel Mueller [source])
…and:
May Day
I’ve decided to waste my life again,
Like I used to: get drunk on
The light in the leaves, find a wall
Against which something can happen,Whatever may have happened
Long ago—let a bullet hole echoing
The will of an executioner, a crevice
In which a love note was hidden,Be a cell where a struggling tendril
Utters a few spare syllables at dawn.
I’ve decided to waste my life
In a new way, to forget whoeverTouched a hair on my head, because
It doesn’t matter what came to pass,
Only that it passed, because we repeat
Ourselves, we repeat ourselves.I’ve decided to walk a long way
Out of the way, to allow something
Dreaded to waken for no good reason,
Let it go without saying,Let it go as it will to the place
It will go without saying: a wall
Against which a body was pressed
For no good reason, other than this.
(Phillis Levin [source])
…and:
The world is a wonderfully weird place, consensual reality is significantly flawed, no institution can be trusted, certainty is a mirage, security a delusion, and the tyranny of the dull mind forever threatens — but our lives are not as limited as we think they are, all things are possible, laughter is holier than piety, freedom is sweeter than fame, and in the end it’s love and love alone that really matters.
(Tom Robbins [source])
