going far beyond the road I have begun,
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has an inner light, even from a distance-
and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave…
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.
Library Window, April, 2014
And guess he’s fucking her and she’s
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise
Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives—
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide
To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That’ll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark
About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
“Common sense says go home and forget it, no money coming in. Common sense always speaks too late. Common sense is the guy who tells you you ought to have had your brakes relined last week before you smashed a front end this week. Common sense is the Monday morning quarterback who could have won the ball game if he had been on the team. But he never is. He’s high up in the stands with a flask on his hip. Common sense is the little man in a gray suit who never makes a mistake in addition. But it’s always somebody else’s money he’s adding up.” love Raymond Chandler
Platforme of Bagdat, from The Six Voyages of John Baptista Tavernier, 1670
A remarkable account of travel through 17th century Asia by a French diamond merchant who covered by his own account, 180,000 miles over the course of forty years and six voyages through Turkey, Persia and the East-Indies. Though best known for the discovery of the 118-carat blue diamond that he subsequently sold to Louis XIV of France in 1668, (it was stolen in 1792 and re-emerged in London as The Hope Diamond), his writings show that he was a keen observer of his time as well as a remarkable cultural anthropologist.
Perfect little pocket introduction to the world of Daido Moriyama, all noir mood and jazzy soundtrack as it follows him prowling the city. We learn photography isn’t the most charming or enjoyable activity for him, what it is, though, is seductive, something he can’t help but do, rooted in the idea of the city as sexual, a siren calling him, a circuit-board of interconnecting desires. Seduced from an early age by the freedom of wandering, a stranger in a new town, unattached but engaged in an intimate way few others are (the intimacy of details, gestures, private looks, neon signs, advertising) he sensed everything about us is desire, either physical or projected, sublimated or hidden in plain view. He describes himself as a stray dog, an alley cat, but equally he could be described as a cross between a flaneur and a hunter. The pleasure of walking with no defined destination, the pleasure of attention and exploration, aligned to the hunter’s eye for prey, for capturing things.