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[ website | scarlet ribbons~ ]
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[27 Mar 2006|06:50pm]
the nola_butoh community gohei and i used to moderate is basically extinct.
i started a new one, which is butoh_dance. please join it. yes. dooo eeeet.
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[27 Mar 2006|09:30am]
There's a projected 90% chance that I'll be moving to Seattle in June. I know very few people in the area and I'm wondering if any of you are there?
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hallows eve. [11 Nov 2005|08:56am]
[ mood | no photos of others, i suck. ]

Bix Beiderbecke.

The wedding cake that fought back. They were de-lic-ious.

and, a wee bit of advice for you...

never pass up the chance to dig around in pumpkin goo.

it is yum.
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Pablo Neruda, from Residencia en la tierra. [07 Sep 2005|10:54am]
[ mood | lament ]

I opened the collected works of Neruda to this poem this morning,
written to a drowned friend.

So strange that it expresses the current state of new
orleans with such tragic serendipity. & so, I share it with you.


Between terrified feathers, between nights
and magnolias and telegrams,
between southerly winds and winds from the sea blowing west,
you come flying.

Under grave-plots and ashes,
under the ice on the snail,
under the remotest terrestrial waters,
you come flying.

Deeper still, between girls under fathoms of water,
blind plants and a litter of fish heads,
deeper, still deeper, among clouds once again
you come flying.

Further than blood or than bones,
further than bread; beyond wines,
you come flying.

Beyond vinegar's sting and morality,
between canker and violets,
in your heavenly voice, with the wet on your shoes,
you come flying.

Over drugstores, committees,
over lawyers and navies, wheels
and the reddened extraction of teeth,
you come flying.

Over cities with roofs under water
where notable ladies uncouple the braids of their hair
with lost combs in the span of their hands
you come flying.

Close to the ripening wine in the cellars,
with hands tepid and turbid, quiet,
with gradual, wooden, red hands
you come flying.

Among vanishing airmen
by the banks of the canals and the shadows,
beside lilies now buried,
you come flying.

Among bitter-hued bottles,
rings of anise and accidents,
lamenting and lifting your hands,
you come flying.

Over dentists and parishes,
cinemas, tunnels, ears,
in your newly bought suit, with your eyeballs effaced,
you come flying.

Over that graveyard unmarked by a wall,
where even the mariner founders,
while the rains of your death fall,
you come flying.

While the rain of your fingertips falls,
while the rain of your bones falls,
and your laughter and marrow fall down,
you come flying.

Over the flint into which you dissolve,
flowing fast under time, under winter,
while your heart falls in droplets,
you come flying.

You are no longer there in that ring of cement,
hemmed in by the black-hearted notaries
or the horseman's maniacal bones:
you come flying.

Oh, sea-poppy, my kinsman,
bee-clothed guitarist,
all the shadows that blacken your hair are a lie:
you come flying.

All the shadows that pursue you, a lie;
all the death-stricken swallows, a lie;
all the darkening zones of lament:
you come flying.

A black wind from Valparaiso
spreads the charcoal and foam of its wings
sweeping away the sky where you pass:
you come flying.

There are mists and the chill of dead water,
and whistles and months and the smell
of the rain in the morning and the swill of the fishes:
you come flying.

There's rum, too, between us, you and I and the soul that I mourn,
and nobody, nothing at all but a staircase
with all the treads broken, and a single umbrella:
you come flying.

And always, the sea, there. I go down in the night and I hear you
come flying, under water, alone,
under the sea that inhabits me darkly:
you come flying.

I listen for wings and your slow elevation,
while the torrents of all who have perished assail me,
blind doves flying sodden:
you come flying.

You come flying, alone, in your solitude,
alone with the dead, alone in eternity,
shadowless, nameless, you come flying
without sweets, or a mouth, or a thicket of roses,
you come flying.

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amazing & beautiful deep sea creatures~ [18 Jun 2004|09:44am]
[ mood | wery goot. ]

Carinariid Heteropod

Snipe Eel

Cranchid Squid

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I think there were five of them. oceanic mer-girls... [09 Jan 2004|02:58pm]
[ mood | heliotropesque lily-white joy ]

mine journal is friends only. no no not empty.
add me and i'll add you back and then you can read it if you

here though is a leetle:
something like a dream.

The Ladies Of The Ocean~

their hair was made of kelp,
long whisps, tangles, down
below past the waist, almost
to the knees, and their eyes
were fully black, with no irises
to be blessed. no stars in there.
obsidian eyes. blank, and huge.
immense eyes. furled by sea sight,

They, ocean merkins, were pale and
nubile, lithe, graceful with small
breasts. their skin palest green,
almost white. porcelin. This ocean
had no fish. only plants and stones.
deep gray stones, like kyanite. or
granite. vast rocks. dark yet mossy.

They stood on those rocks on the floor
of that cold and desolate ocean. lonely.
They could breathe the water. but not i.

i'm told i screamed these words:

'I am not a fish! I can't breathe here'

I cannot breathe, I cannot breathe this
ocean, this darksea water, like a baby,

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