
DAILY PHOTO: Makalidurga Cliffside
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I've never been lost in the woods, though I've been lost so many times. I've been lost in my neighborhood, and I've been lost within my mind. You say the trees look all the same. I say that's some speciesist shit. No. I don't know the trees by name, but that doesn't matter a whit. I've never been lost in the woods: lost means wishing to be elsewhere. Lost is all about "woulds" and "coulds." But I'm not lost if I don't care: don't care I don't know this exact spot, 'cause I know precisely where I'm not!

pink trumpet flowers
densely clustered above;
under foot next week

nesting birds
unmoved by their reflected
doppelgängers
A million lives are packed in this city, and each one struggles to be its own self: the starving, rotund, ugly, and pretty -- the tailored and those who buy off-the-shelf. And everyone fails, yet they all succeed in being different, while being alike. And they all heal, while they also all bleed, and almost all would survive a first strike. Everyone knows someone - just not neighbors. They love to remain enigmatic at home, while transparent with those who share labors -- though some want everyone to leave them alone. A city is a strange place full of strangers, and those who choose it thrive on its dangers.
These twin buildings, seen from Ferenciek tere [Franciscan’s Square,] were built in 1902 and were commissioned by Princess Klotild [daughter-in-law of Archduke Joseph] and were designed by Floris Korb and Kalman Giergl. In the background are the Elisabeth Bridge [Erzsébet híd] and one spire of the Inner-City Our Lady of the Assumption Church [Budapest-Belvárosi Nagyboldogasszony Főplébánia-templom.]

the moth is still.
is it alive or dead?
how patient am i?
I see so many statues of dragon-slayers mid-kill. The winged serpents pierced by a lance conjures up such a thrill. But there're no dragons, never were. So, what were they slaying. Dinos went extinct before our time is all that I'm saying. So, were they killing geckos, or maybe a rock lizard? Maybe chickens, given the wings? Struck right through the gizzard! Could it be St. George liked to drink or was tripping ergot? To earn so many statues, he'd a publicist, I bet. "The dragons were metaphorical!" OK, that's really swell, but shouldn't George's heroism be figurative as well?