This is not a violin, it is a doorway. I know this, because I read a lot. My notes and references are usually very detailed breadcrumb paths. But, as Brion Gysin said, the mice can get into the larder of language (and I add to his point, memory). And, well… I have no control over legions of mice.
“This is is not a violin, it is a doorway.”
Continue reading “ReVerse Butcher: This is not a violin, it is a doorway”
“London was cloaked in a strange orange glow after Storm Ophelia caused a dust phenomenon and turned the sun red.”
* * *
“Keep a red heart of memories
Under the great gray rain sheds of the sky,
Under the open sun and the yellow gloaming embers.
Remember all paydays of lilacs and songbirds;
All starlights of cool memories on storm paths.Out of this prairie rise the faces of dead men.
They speak to me. I can not tell you what they say.” – from ‘Haze’ by Carl Sandburg
Under the great gray rain sheds of the sky,
Under the open sun and the yellow gloaming embers.
Remember all paydays of lilacs and songbirds;
All starlights of cool memories on storm paths.Out of this prairie rise the faces of dead men.
They speak to me. I can not tell you what they say.” – from ‘Haze’ by Carl Sandburg
Continue reading “‘Strange Light’ – London 16th October 2017 – photo-essay by Miggy Angel”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 