after a bit of deliberation, i've decided to close shop.
alicewonder.tumblr.com is the new digs for now...
catch you on the flip side.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
snowin' prosin'.
you can always sense when it has snowed.
you wake up at 8 am, windows flooded with light that speaks of midday, and you sit up, slightly confused at the brightness of it all. the ensuing quiet is telling though, everything is muffled, as if a huge blanket has been placed over the ground. soothing. i was supposed to head up to the mountains today for a small breather from my city, but the snow had other plans. i'm happy though...i've been waiting for this.
so i'm off to take pictures before the snow plows scrape the road to death, but i came across this today and wanted to share.
Forgetfulness
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion,
the entire novel,
which suddenly becomes one you
have never read,
never even heard of.
as if one by one, the memories you
used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern
hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there
are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of
the nine Muses goodbye,
and watched the quadratic equation
pack its bag,
and even now, as you memorize the
order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a
state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of
Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to
remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure
corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark
mythological river
whose name begins with an 'L" as far
as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion
where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim
and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of
the night
to look up the date of a famous battle
in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window
seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to
know by heart.
---Billy Collins
you wake up at 8 am, windows flooded with light that speaks of midday, and you sit up, slightly confused at the brightness of it all. the ensuing quiet is telling though, everything is muffled, as if a huge blanket has been placed over the ground. soothing. i was supposed to head up to the mountains today for a small breather from my city, but the snow had other plans. i'm happy though...i've been waiting for this.
so i'm off to take pictures before the snow plows scrape the road to death, but i came across this today and wanted to share.
Forgetfulness
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion,
the entire novel,
which suddenly becomes one you
have never read,
never even heard of.
as if one by one, the memories you
used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern
hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there
are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of
the nine Muses goodbye,
and watched the quadratic equation
pack its bag,
and even now, as you memorize the
order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a
state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of
Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to
remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure
corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark
mythological river
whose name begins with an 'L" as far
as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion
where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim
and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of
the night
to look up the date of a famous battle
in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window
seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to
know by heart.
---Billy Collins
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