
DAILY PHOTO: Clouds & Mountain, Mt. Shani
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A mythical one to be sure. Cobbled together and a product of pure imagination. Griffin, Minotaur, Dragon, Vietnamese Unicorn (not to be confused with the kind hung as posters on the walls of pre-teen American girls,) or something of that nature.
This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond --
Invisible, as Music --
But positive, as Sound --
It beckons, and it baffles --
Philosophy, dont know --
And through a Riddle, at the last --
Sagacity, must go --
To guess it, puzzles scholars --
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown --
Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies --
Blushes, if any see --
Plucks at a twig of Evidence --
And asks a Vane, the way --
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit --
Strong Hallelujahs roll --
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul --

sunup hour:
yellow blossoms turn gold;
one flutters to earth.
A Man Was Going Down the Road by Otar ChiladzeDear 100-year-old self,
In the unlikely event that we’re still alive, go play with the wolves. Let them have their meal, meager though it may be. We’ve had a good run, and – unless I miss my guess – are not feeling vigorous of either mind or body. If we are feeling vigorous of mind and body, please disregard until such time as it’s not true anymore. In said case, I’m very curious about what kind of scientific breakthrough occurred (or magic fountain we fell into,) and look forward to learning about that in due time.
Signed,
Your younger self, the one far more afraid of dementia & incontinence than of death-
A little black thing among the snow,
Crying ''weep! 'weep!' in notes of woe!
'Where are thy father & mother? say?'
'They are both gone up to the church to pray.
'Because I was happy upon the heath,
'And smil'd among the winter's snow,
'They cloth'd me in the clothes of death,
'And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
'And because I am happy & dance & sing,
'They think they have done me no injury,
'And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King,
'Who make up a heaven of our misery.'


dry leaves skitter
past the temple censer,
colored by lantern.