You've got to dig to dig it, you dig?
There were no photos of them, but they were there in the pictures of trees behind their houses, the fields where they worked, the river they fished, the church where they testified, the joints where they drank. (TM)
Pleasure augers survival. (RK)
The Poetics of Disobedience, Alice Notley, 1998.
For a long time I’ve seen my job as bound up with the necessity of noncompliance with pressures, dictates, atmospheres of, variously, poetic factions, society at large, my own past practices as well.
[…]
I recently completed a very long poem called Disobedience but I didn’t realize that disobeying was what I was doing, what perhaps I’d always been doing until the beginning of the end of it, though the tone throughout was one of rejection of everything I was supposed to be or to affirm, all the poetries all the groups the clothes the gangs the governments the feelings and reasons.
Burner Phone 101. (Rebecca Williams)
“At airports and border crossings, another key strategy is to minimize what is on your device in the first place. Removing social media apps, old texts, photos, and other sensitive content lowers the risk if your phone is searched or confiscated, since less will be available to access.”
A Garden of Impressions, Emanuele Coccia. via a Luiz Zerbini catalogue.
When through the village lurking
Nought gives them check or fright,
No watch dog dares to bellow,
The Wolves, Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy, translated from the Russian by Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi
Before you go further,
let me tell you what a poem brings,
first, you must know the secret, there is no poem
to speak of, it is a way to attain a life without boundaries,
yes, it is that easy, a poem
Let Me Tell You What a Poem Brings, Juan Felipe Herrera
Drawing pictures was an idle way of finishing an unprofitable morning’s work. Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. (VW)
Past/Present Suite · Nicholas Britell Andor: Vol. 1 (Episodes 1-4)
Anger is the sea.
Gasping and buffetted, no matter how
you struggle or plead for mercy, you drown. But pride
can clothe those shattered bones with perfect skin,
and breathe into the lover’s mouth her song.
Passions, Ruth Fainlight