Jumbled Saturday.

Reliance on the shoulder blades of my pillow…

We keep the blinds closed all the time, now

(our love has become something to keep indoors)–

we used to not care

peeling each others’ outsides off in the light, by the mirror,

uncovered for neighbors to watch behind their computer screens

Our skin begged for an audience then,

sharing the heat from the napes of our necks with the cold pavement


We sigh under the cracks of closed doors,


quietly whispering in crannies

conspiring with the dark and dust,

hibernating affections enclosed in the shells of each other.

Home life, softly taken,

the ivy creeping up the sides of our bedroom as we lay and watch each other

frost coating the places we used to kiss

in angst.

Not a heartlessness, but

the suffocating of ourselves with the knowledge that this happiness can only last until the shedding of our skin.

So we close the curtains,

and choose comforts that won’t exhaust the fuel of our gasping breath.


Sexiest Woman Alive.

“I’ve played a lot of tricks on myself,” she says. “I’ve made it hard for me sometimes, especially in my teens and twenties. I had an attraction to drama. Most of us have that, especially if you are an artist—you feel like you are tempted to explore the darkness. I could not be less interested now. For me, the most attractive, charming, cool, fun, interesting thing—how could I call it? A plan.” ~Penelope Cruz, Esquire



How do we create

with a forecast of attainable satisfaction?

Tumultuous irregularities

bring with them an unfortunate


of inspiration.

I hope I never become boring and old

in the patterns of thought

my activities produce.



When a violinist plays, which is incidental: the arm

movement or the bow sound?

Try arm movement only.

If my music seems to require physical silence, that is

because it requires concentration to yourself– and

this requires inner silence which may lead to outer

silence as well.

I think of my music more as a practice (gyo) than

a music.

The only sound that exists to me is the sound of the

mind. My works are only to induce music of the mind

in people.

It is not possible to control a mind-time with a

stopwatch or a metronome. In the mind-world, things

spread out and go beyond time.

There is a wind that never dies.

~Yoko Ono. 1966.

Cat’s Cradle.

“In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in his cosmic loneliness.

And God said, “Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.” And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat, looked around, and spoke. “What is the purpose of all this?” he asked politely.

“Everything must have a purpose?” asked God.

“Certainly,” said man.

“Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,” said God.

And He went away.”

~Kurt Vonnegut