The earth braces itself for the feet

Of a lover of God about to 

Dance.

The sky becomes very timid

When a great saint starts waving his arms

In joy,

For the sky knows its prized fixtures,

The sun, moon and planets

Could all wind up

Rolling so wild on the floor!

...

The day candle (sun) has forgotten the hour;

The whole world has gone joyously mad.

- Hafiz

I'm avoiding school with pure determination right now. After writing the most intense paper of my life, I deserve some pause to breath! And what air today! My windows are frosted with condensation and teary pathways, giving me streaky sights to the heavy trees outside. I'm completely in love with everything sweatery and especially anything indian/aztec-y. If only this life of a poor student wasn't so textile deprived!

sound of my soul: here

this time is
of barbed quiet wound tight across our shivering skin.
of senseless air
and meaning dies quietly, dressed to the nines and alone.
I shouldn't mourn past selves and smiles
but how can I not feel their betrayal to the past
with sadness, washed and folded, weeping in its bottom drawer.

The sound of my sinking exhausted world to be found here (be sure to listen to all three parts). I found this info on wiki particularly effecting: In interviews, Stevens has stated that, in 2009/10, he suffered from a mysterious debilitating virus infection that affected his nervous system. He experienced chronic pain, and was forced to stop working on music for several months. He said: "The Age of Adz, is, in some ways, a result of that process of working through health issues and getting much more in touch with my physical self. That's why I think the record's really obsessed with sensation and has a hysterical melodrama to it."

The fall is painfully beautiful outside today. The colors are so vivid, I feel like I'm in a fevered state of consciousness, perhaps not helped by listening to sufjan 24/7 on no sleep.

Wistful ones,
A tired hello before I hit the pillow.

MAGIC to be found here.

I miss Heaney this fall, and Rilke. There is no time, when Huizinga's seven thousand sources invade my days. Freedom finished. Quite brilliant, but not an easy read.

My brain is no longer forming words, so goodnight, city. This overworked student is headed for slumber.

All I Ever Needed Help With Was You

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

I've lost my T.S.E. and its making me lonely. Rarely do I misplace books important as he is. As it is Saturday I am again writing, though the moment isn't very inspirational. Overworked would be the word I think, and under-eye dark-worry (can you tell I've been reading Anglosaxon? The kennings just keep coming....and alliteration, too, apparently).
Things I'm in love with:
food. pretty much any kind, because there is very little time, I've discovered, to fit it in between running five blocks to class (hefting a hundred-pound bag in the process), running five blocks back again, seven blocks sideways to honors (which involves demonstrating your smarts, preferably at highly audible tones for the benefit of your presumably deprived classmates), and then shimmying into business attire for evenings of semi-exhaustion as a fairy-tale (according to the oregonian - something I would have to contest. if you saw the amount of work involved you would agree with me) librarian.

Brits. They are quite lovely and well educated. And who else, when speaking of an author, would murmur confidingly to you over a dusty book, "mad as toast!"

Tender Loving Empire - discovered in the same week by myself, walking by it in downtown ptown, and also by a friend online. Oh Portland. Thank you for a having a real live etsy shop.

New Pornographers. I know its old news to all you young indies, and yes Sufjan Stevens has a new album out, but how can anyone tire of listening to this? It gets me through my many many hours of life right now.

It is way too late for me to be typing on here and not reading Montaigne or Huizinga or unknown Anglosaxon poets, so farewell my lovelies until next time.