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[FEBRUARY 2012.]

Happy Valentine’s Day from genus Hallucigenia!

[1] [2] [3]

thats sick is this real or cgi?

burgess shale = my tweed-porn name.

The buses, serving the public, have banners with a shot of an infant on its back and the plea, “Always put me on my back to sleep”... it’s the vulnerability in the first person that’s so shattering.

 

Sometimes when I happen on the Stanford campus the air is yellow and dry, and eucalyptus leaves skitter by in the breeze, and I feel like Phlebas the Phoenician passing the stages of his age and youth in the whirlpool.

Wisława Szymborska, 1923-2012

Four in the Morning

The hour from night to day.
The hour from side to side.
The hour for those past thirty.

The hour swept clean to the crowing of cocks.
The hour when earth betrays us.
The hour when wind blows from extinguished stars.
The hour of and-what-if-nothing-remains-after-us.

The hollow hour.
Blank, empty.
The very pit of all other hours.

No one feels good at four in the morning.
If ants feel good at four in the morning
- three cheers for the ants. And let five o’clock come
if we’re to go on living.

(tr. Magnus J. Krynski, Robert A. Maguire)

Czwarta nad ramen

Godzina z nocy na dzień.
Godzina z boku na bok.
Godzina dla trzydziestoletnich.

Godzina uprzątnięta pod kogutów pianie.
Godzina, kiedy ziemia zapiera nas.
Godzina, kiedy wieje od wygasłych gwiazd.
Godzina a-czy-po-nas-nic-nie-pozostanie.

Godzina pusta.
Głucha, czcza.
Dno wszystkich innych godzin.

Nikomu nie jest dobrze o czwartej nad ranem.
Jeśli mrówkom jest dobrze o czwartej nad ranem
- pogratulujmy mrówkom. I niech przyjdzie piąta,
o ile mamy dalej żyć.

It's hard to choose, but I'd say three in the morning is worse, because it really is too early to get up and too late to fall asleep before dawn.

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