Thursday, February 09, 2006

"we'll be just fine"

The other night, my poet friend told me to read this poem by Jack Spicer:

This ocean, humiliating in its disguises
Tougher than anything
No one listens to poetry. The ocean
Does not mean to be listened to. A drop
Or crash of water. It means
Is bread and butter
Pepper and salt. The death
That young men hope for. Aimlessly
It pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. No
One listens to poetry.

(Maybe, says m.lady, it's just that no one listens)

Above, up there: notes on Saint Agnes, notes on a new story, sketches of a robot angel and a robot version of Klimt's "kiss," a new way to write the capital letter "J," and an attempt to draw a lamb.

My friend (her link is over there on the right, she's a lady who makes lovely music) has just released her first full-length album. Her name, if you will, is Rachael Cantu. Her album is "Run All Night."

The song I posted below will always remind me of a winter afternoon in New York.

Riding a brand new subway car.

My friend had this song on her ipod and handed me one of the ear buds so we could listen together.
So the train is rumbling underground and making its stops and people are coming and going and we're listening to this song and then the doors open and I hear this small voice.

And it's a little kid (wearing a jacket that's a little too big and holding his mom's hand) who is making this sound.
He sits across from me and he keeps singing, his facial expression is making me think that he is completely unaware of the sounds he's making. He sits across from me and he sings and I'm listening to this song and it just felt like every piece of the universe had found its balance.

Do you know what I mean?

I wrote a story about it.
My brother took part of that story and made a painting with it.
And now we're back to the song:

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