In Vietnam

In Vietnam, toilets can retire and still find love.

Roses in the street aren't the same thing as rubbish.

When you're walking through the fish market...

...sometimes it's better to not look up.

You've got to feel sorry about something or other, but sometimes the cracks are my favourite part.

Fireworks

I'm a mass of electric light spiders.

We're the daughters of the air.

I'm the devil's ballroom chandelier.

I'm shivery as lightning's bier.

I'm outta here.

What to do?

Dare,

and dare,

and dare again.

Butoh is the walk of smoke

Because Butoh is about disappearing, that is why a form is left behind -- The disappearing history of the flesh trails behind the metropolis of the flesh -- In our body, there is something that sometimes goes astray, and sometimes surfaces.


-- Najakima Natsu, Butohist

post for dinah hawken

"Bev, it's easy in this crudely driven city to betray what is delicate

and what is deep. I'm writing 'delicate' and 'deep' to you because they're exhausted

words and to avoid them now I know would be a greater betrayal."









-- Dinah Hawken, from 'Writing Home'

masks

"The happy, healthy human being

wears

many

masks."  -R.D. Laing

pet light

Is this cat made of light? Yes,

made of light, just like the far side of my face.

And the sofa, woven storm, is a background to pet against,

to pet light, light against light,

and ears with which to hear the fight.

the power lines are breathing!

In, 

out.

In,

out.

In,

out.

Rhymes with sad

When I left you at the airport,

there were pigeons in the sky.

I don't know how it is they fly,

I don't know how to say goodbye.

false yellow

Wool was trying to keep the fences warm.

Her direction felt painted on.

Gravel was trying to get to the sea.

She kept thinking: where are you? what is it? why can't we? 

Everything red flagged the gravel instead.
















She feared the false yellow had gone to her head.

TIP

You look left for a minute, and your whole world tips.

All you see is white lines...

that show you where the edge is.

A waterfront story

There was once a cheerful, dreamy, shiny young cleat named Sonny.

Sonny dreamed of leaving his post on the dock and having great adventures. He dreamed of climbing up the luminous red steps, just to see where they would lead -

- or even, some day, flying.

You'll do no such thing! said his mother when she caught Sonny journalling one day. No son of mine is going to go gallavanting all over the blessed countryside. You'll stay right where you are young man.

Sonny was very sad. But his friend, Nino Jr, who lived behind the restaurant, wouldn't let him give up.

You've gotta do it, Sonny! You've just gotta! said Nino Jr.

Sonny took a long last look at the bay which had been his home for so long. He gathered up all of his courage, and readied himself for something big.

And some evenings, if you look real hard, you can just make him out in the sky - a dash of bright yellow, against all that blue.