“I walk around the cottage, touching things because you touched them. A book of Rilke. A plate that once had jelly on it. A hairbrush from which I have not yet removed the chestnut hairs. It’s a kind of sickness, isn’t it? An illness that has invaded me. Or rather the return of a chronic illness. This bout fatal, as I know it must be. I think that words corrupt and oxidize love. That it is better not to write of it. Even memory, I think, is full of rust and decay. I have always been faithful to you. If faithful means the experience against which everything else has been measured.”— Anita Shreve, The Last Time They Met
The gravedigger Agustin Fernandez was at the cemetery and suddenly a skeleton appeared to him and forced him to dance. He thanks Saint Augustine for the skeleton didn’t take him and he’s already recovered after the shock.
From Vodovorot, 1907.
Broomsticks (most of them enchanted) are collected here.
me on my morning commute
Hibiscus made of rose quartz and serpentine from China.
-Natural History Museum Vienna, Austria
Mixed together, the contents of this blog are probably uncohesive and taste pretty bad.
