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(…) the curtain billowed gently in and out, as if the room were breathing. Wind chimes, too heavy for the delicate breeze, hung silent amid the quiet movement. Swaying slowly, they avoided touching, over and over. Dusk and shadows laboured in unison to paint the dissipating landscape. With each flutter of the curtain, the light dimmed. She stood still, in the eye of an invisible storm.

 

From The Book of Unfinished Stories

Edward Hopper:Woman in the Sun

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art: Edward Hopper, Woman in the Sun, 1961

 

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Silence

And a deeper silence

When the crickets

Hesitate

              –Leonard Cohen

 

ChelmonskiJozef_BabieLato

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art: Józef Chełmoński, Babie lato, 1875

 

 

 

the whisper of moments

the murmur of thoughts

the song of the heart

the wail of the soul

the life in between

the paean within

to nothing but death

and all that survives

the longing of one

the fate of the lot

not heaven

nor hell

amen

 

Bosch_Jardin_des_delices_detail

Art: Hieronymus Bosch

 

bosch

 

E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle.

And so we came forth, and once again beheld the stars

-Dante

 

Art: Ascent of the Blessed (fragment) by Hieronymus Bosch

 

redon

 

It was quiet on the day the door closed.

The morning rose grey and still. There was no sound, as if the wind lost its voice. The sky was gone, replaced by clouds that obliterated shapes and stifled all sound.There was no need to get up. Suddenly there was no need to struggle, no need to live.

Yet life was all there was.

Even the silence breathed.

But you had to be dead to hear it.

Or alive enough.

 

black and white

white and black

a kiss of grey

in mounds of snow

red street light

bleeds a drop

the flashing green

a fleeing gecko

blue bus

streaks against the…

black and white

white and black

a kiss of grey…

4_Ewa_Scheer_Behind_Whats_Visible_mgb4pa

Art: Ewa Scheer, ice paintings

Armata

You said I was wonderful

You said I could do anything

You said I could do no wrong

You said you loved me

You said I was beautiful

Then you closed your eyes forever

… and I disappeared.

©aother

LudmilaArmata

Art: Ludmila Armata

 

theFace

Un mot ici

Un autre là

Ce qui, moi?

theFace2

800px-Goya-Guerra_(16)

This is but a murmur

A voice drowning in a cacophony of shrieks

Amid species bent on self-destruction

Imploding with hatred

This is pathology

Not politics

There is no cure

The virus is spreading

The lie

Like a house of cards

Beyond proportions

Who will say they’re sorry?

Hope is but a word

In this world infected

With death

No antidote

And no time to find one

Divinity debunked

While extolled

That’s for the entranced.

For the awake

And the curious

There is no salvation.

‘Should I stay or should I go?’

 

Los_desastres_de_la_guerra,_Plato_3_-_Lo_mismo

Art: Francisco Goya

 

 

I am fishing for help.

I am casting for salvation.

I am crying out for assistance.

I am sinking.

Help me.

Why?

Why when you are sinking too.

Why?

A word floats in….

It floats in silently…

It touches me…

It touches you…

Can’t you feel it?

It’s love.

Love.

Love.

And then…

The End.

Love eternal.

MEKONG_04-QAG-credit-480x721