Wednesday, April 9, 2008

April Is The Cruelest Month

Clutter and confusion. I can't seem to make sense of things. Can't write, can't photograph. I've been going through my files. My mind is a mess. I'm certain a Spring Cleaning is in the offing. The weather is too hot here too early. I'm working on stories I'm not sure I can tell.

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.


'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'

I think we are in rats' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.


Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih

(from T.S. Eliot's, "The Waste Land")

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