Bleeker Street, Summer
by Derek Walcott
Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor,
for the eternal idleness of the imagined return,
for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom
of tangled sheets and the Sunday salt, ah violin!
When I press summer dusks together, it is
a month of street accordions and sprinklers
laying the dust, small shadows running from me.
It is music opening and closing, Italia mia, on Bleecker,
ciao, Antonio, and the water-cries of children
tearing the rose-coloured sky in streams of paper;
it is dusk in the nostrils and the smell of water
down littered streets that lead you to no water,
and gathering islands and lemons in the mind.
There is the Hudson, like the sea aflame.
I would undress you in the summer heat,
and laugh and dry your damp flesh if you came.
It’s like I’m in one of those Back to the Future movies hurtling towards sometime in the DeLorean DMC-12. The corners of my mouth twitch, crinkled. I am going towards something but I do not know what. I am going towards something, fast; and I am falling, stumbling, aching with the beats I have endured. The past one-and-a-half week has felt like three more. I am circling some black hole, but you know they are wormholes. I am falling, stumbling, aching with the beats: paralyzed, yes but I am happy; “masochistic.” But shit something is rumbling in the light ahead, pinpoint. My eyes are dilated now. I am not going to try and explain. That’s what has held me back for years now.
the ground quivered this morning, brought back to life by a defibrillator the earth quaked this morning. its heart split this morning that’s how i know mama is alive still. i am wrung dry and anchored with obsidian. my knees to my feet stand firm in this story that is not of my past, not of my future. the arc behind my right eye aches when i try to see. my right arm is being exorcised, there is vapor evaporating, and i am breaking something. the sun cuts the sky clear,
"lady you don’t need to see, maybe you don’t need to see, because lately you don’t need to see."
Damn she sounds AMAZING
Lady || Stevie Nicks
I overslept dreaming about different kinds of map. at one point i confessed my great distaste for maps that displayed the weather, which i further named to be “umbological” maps. i didn’t know i had such strong feelings towards topography
I watched this week’s Kaypacha report and his mantra for the week really hit home in its simplicity:
“When I believe I will see,
The plan that Life has for me,
To let go of pain and have a new start,
With a clear mind and a loving heart.”
When I find my mind going into overdrive I tend to lose sight of my path, instead making way for doubt to find its way in, but this concept is freeing. When we aren’t always looking in that desperate kind of way we search, Life finds us.
My knuckles are broken with the way memory pales in the sunlight. When I look up it arcs my right eye and I tell myself I won’t go blind. When the darkness overwhelms the image of my hand holding its own I tell myself I exist.
Frank Ocean | Wisemen
“Frank Ocean wrote a fantastic ballad that was truly lovely and poetic in every way, there just wasn’t a scene for it. I could have thrown it in quickly just to have it, but that’s not why he wrote it and not his intention. So I didn’t want to cheapen his effort. But, the song is fantastic, and when Frank decides to unleash it on the public, they’ll realize it then.”
— Quentin Tarantino explaining why he didn’t use the song in “Django Unchained.”