> 165: To be a field of poppies, food in pleasing displays, just walk out
Hi. Last year on Halloween, my husband and I decided to celebrate by walking most of the length of central-to-us Brooklyn with our dog and seeing what we saw. We admired skeleton decor, railing "candy chutes" set up to deliver treats down stoops, little children in outfits they would outgrow physically and spiritually by next year. When we were waiting to cross the street not far from our house, a woman stopped us. "No costume for the dog?" she said, pointing down. Disappointed. I will not make the same mistake this year.
"I asked her what it was like to have her husband home again, piled up in her driveway. 'Well, it’s compost,' she told me. 'It’s still precious because it was his body. But it’s also compost.'" A vision of the afterlife as becoming a field of poppies.
The earth as a player piano tune; did we already know about herb spirals????
Song Exploder: John Lennon edition.
On the order of my "You can just not respond to the email" revelation of a few years back, this blew my mind, from leading social philosopher Da Share Zone: You can just walk out.
Delighted to inform that the chocolate guy is at it again.
A photographer spent 40 years documenting the things he saw on the roadsides of America, from fake windmills to demented roosters. Now 11,000+ of his pictures are freely available through the Library of Congress. Love a public domain happy ending!!
Rejoice, for it is Alaska bear cam season.
Can someone start one of these in Brooklyn? Perhaps where the mayonnaise store used to be.
A different smell of dirt.
The walk between
every appointment now quicker.
And clouds—in all their indifference—
somehow looking at you.
Aren't you, too, unbelievable.
Aren't you simply a you.
No doubt, as Woolf wrote
one October on Paradise Road:
the extremely insignificant position I have
in this important world. Choosing words
that won't obscure how punishing we are.
Setting the alarm and keeping the eyes open.
Long. Into the dark. Or the wind—
suddenly matching our need
to change. The garment
with last year's stain faded but there.
Of course it is cold now
but somewhere it's colder.
People don't know what to do
with their hair, all their fear.
When you see the world,
introduce yourself like a guest.
Like a drop of paint outside canvas.
A dog barking for no one to hear.—Alex Dimitrov, "October"
Bye,
Laura