What does the sentence “If you eat this fruit you will die” mean for Eve who is in a place where there is no death?
—Hélène Cixous, Readings: The Poetics of Blanchot, Joyce, Kakfa, Kleist, Lispector, and Tsvetayeva
Happy Halloween, I guess.
Category: Italian meringue
Pockets of My Childhood
Each year is like putting a new coat over all the old ones.
Sometimes I reach into the pockets of my childhood and pull things out.
—Simon Van Booy, “Little Birds”
Happy birthday (to me, from me).
Onzième
Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion.
Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.
—Anne Rice
Happy eleventh birthday, La Pêche Fraîche!
The Three Sisters
Sga:d hëdwa:yë:’ ögwa’nigöë’
We gather our minds together to send greetings and thanks to the world around us. Now our minds are one.
dëyetinönyö:’
We give our thanks to
Jöhehgöh
Our Life Sustainers we harvest from the garden.
Da:h ne’hoh dih nëyögwa’nigo’dë:ök
And so let it be that way in our minds.
—Portion of the Ganö:nyög (Thanksgiving Address/Greetings to the Natural World/Words that Come Before All Else) in Onöndowa’ga:’ Gawë:nö’
Three to The Third
Either a snail’s moist web of moonlight, or someone’s hot breath at four a.m. when the night has been too much, has eaten you whole.
This is my life.
It has been sifted through the bones of my body, through blood. It is all that I have.
—Joy Harjo
Happy birthday to me, from me.
Spice and Scent
Like this alabaster box whose art
Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,
Carven with delicate dreams and wrought
With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
Therein I treasure the spice and scent
Of rich and passionate memories blent
Like odours of cinnamon, sandal, and clove,
Of song and sorrow and life and love.
—Sarojini Naidu
Dixième
Learn to see, learn to hear, learn to feel, learn to smell, and know that by practice alone can you become expert.
Dr. William Osler
ten years come and gone / I soon run short of fingers / a decade, complete
Happy tenth birthday to La Pêche Fraîche, this little sliver of my soul.
We have reached double digits together, readers, and I humbly thank you.
Redrum
Boo
Boo, I think I no longer believe in monsters as faces in the floor or feral infants or vampires or whatever.
—David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest
