unguided tour

i’m falling in love with her
hopelessly smitten
and strangely driven
to stop and stare and wonder
how have i been before?
and why do i want more and more?
each into the other, this
plainly forbidden
fruit that has given
form to what was private bliss
upon reflection i find
i’m losing myself and my mind
can I woo her through the looking glass
this refraction of light i see?
in the pool face to face we match
like ghosts, like family,
like angels
translucent and
in-between
i’m falling in love with her
brazenly object
willingly subject
as sunlight through the moon
like a soliloquy or two
forever as one, me and you
(Patricia Barber, Narcissus, from the album Mythologies) (more…)

A king in a land without frontiers.
A postmodern solver of riddles, seduced 
by a masculine conceit.
Diffèrance.

I’m allergic to roots, eradication is my profession. (more…)

All my life I have been a poor go-to-sleeper. People in trains, who lay their newspaper aside, fold their silly arms, and immediately, with an offensive familiarity of demeanor, start snoring, amaze me as much as the uninhibited chap who cozily defecates in the presence of a chatty tubber, or participates in huge demonstrations, or joins some union in order to dissolve in it. Sleep is the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals. It is a mental torture I find debasing. … I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity and genius. No matter how great my weariness, the wrench of parting with consciousness is unspeakably repulsive to me. I loathe Somnus, that black-masked headsman binding me to the block… (Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory)

I’m sorry you feel that way. Try and look at it with my eyes. (more…)