State Of Mind
Disordered Subdiffusion
Friday, March 24, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Western Haikus
Cold February
coffee in bed, laundry pile.
I should have another cup.
Who haven't you slept with?
I'm sure
I'll meet them soon.
The gas station attendant,
missing her front teeth,
has a contagious smile.
Sighs escape from smile
the waitress aches for closing,
remembers herself.
The child with the balloon
untied it from his arm
To see how high it would go.
He is young and angry and drunk.
I ran my hands down his tattooed arms,
then ran away.
~ Summer Copeland
Friday, March 17, 2006
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Orphan
"'Remember, young man, unceasingly,' Father Paissy began, without preface, 'that the science of this world, which has become a great power, has, especially in the last century, analysed everything divine handed down to us in the holy books. After this cruel analysis the learned of this world have nothing left of all that was sacred of old. But they have only anlaysed the parts and overlooked the whole, and indeed their blindness is marvellous. Yet the whole still stands steadfast before their eyes, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. Has it not lasted nineteen centuries, is it not still a living, a moving power in the individual soul and in the masses of people? It is still as strong and living even in the souls of atheists, who have destroyed everything! For even those who have renounced Christianity and attack it, in their inmost being still follow the Christian ideal, for hitherto neither their subtlety nor the ardour of their hearts has been able to create a higher ideal of man and of virtue than the ideal given by Christ of old. When it has been attempted, the result has been only grotesque. Remember this especially, young man, since you are being sent into the world by your departing elder. Maybe, remembering this great day, you will not forget my words, uttered from the heart for your guidance, seeing you are young, and the temptations of the world are great and beyond your strength to endure. Well, now go, my orphan.'"
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov