hymns to the night.

"Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world -- sunk in a deep grave -- waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. -- The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?" novalis

poseidon

night

he only goes outside at night.  when people are mostly asleep, he walks the streets to find a world at its stillest.  the light above illuminating objects and singling them out, raising them above their normal status.  fumbling through abandoned bars and parking lots he is at peace.  this is the world when it is safe for him.

it was a while ago that he found he could not face people anymore.  the looks, real or not, haunted him and caused him to doubt of himself .  doubting has been the regular thing for so long that moments of respite make breathing feel like the greatest thing in the world.  this is the world that tom found himself in.

tom was pleased to be alive in the technological age.  he ordered everything to his home and rarely had to go out during the day.  he thought of the home as a caretaker.  he would read  ballard books with glee and understanding.  the poetry of someone who understands.  this was a far cry from his youth.

as a teenager, he was outgoing and popular.  it seemed he could do no wrong.  as an adult he had a memory of every false move he made, every wrong turn.  he should have been more.  she should have loved him.  he could have done it all.  he knew how it all sounded in his head.  he laughed about it, but embraced the life of a recluse non the less.

Novalis

"Give sense to the vulgar, give mysteriousness to the common, give the dignity of the unknown to the obvious, and a trace of infinity of the temporal. "    Novalis 

paging through klee's pedagogical sketchbook.

i look at klee's pedagogical sketchbook every once in a while when i am wandering through the studio trying to get my mind on something stimulating.  i have never read the last page after the credits, it seems.  there is a quote by novalis that pertains to seeing the mysterious in the ordinary.  usually, i would just put it back down, or re-read the passages on how you pass through grey on the way to green from red.  it caught me up and i began thinking about a bench i pass by every night on my runs.

 the bench is inside the park by the beach on collins and 80th.  the gates leading to it are locked, and it is lit from above and single it out in the darkened environment.  a blue light turns the green grass at its base bright and acidic in juxtaposition to the night.  that bench has created many narratives for me.  it has served as a metaphor and a scene.  the colors are just the avenue to the ordinary being breached by an unexplainable poetry of solitude.

i am glad i stumbled upon it and hope i can stay in this "space" for a while longer.

beginning

i will start writing soon.  i am just in the process of starting this whole thing.