Untimely

You have come home to a winter, My starling, To the blades of grass Enamelled in frost; The clouds have grizzled over A terrain of brown trees Leaflessly dreaming, Bereft of sap. Child of celestial bodies, now Where’s your worm, When even the crows Duel in hunger In a wind harsh and stripping Away the […]

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imperatives

building bridges. so simple: this is This Side, and that be the Other Side. find material(s) appropriate to (the) circumstance(s) or is it environment? maybe finances? well, who actually cares, find it, be done. make plans. consider all parties involved, this side and that, and forget about the river itself or the life therein. bridges […]

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archaeology

One day, digging up the forest floor, They will stumble upon something white. Something hard to identify, even to tell apart From the peat moss and mycelium, something Brittle and crumbling, even delicate To the exploring fingers. It will stain whatever it touches, So they will not forget The strange encounter. Today, though, it is […]

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lietū raudāt ir vieglāk

man bija trīs kastaņi, Tev — sauja ievziedu rūgtu; un mums pa vidu vasara, sutīga, nenoplūkta. griezes iespraucās augustā, pērkoni gāzās un gāzās, lauki jau kļuva zeltaini, kurmji svinēja kāzas… vienu velēnu zemāk, zem puķu sarautām saknēm, tur viņi nesaskārās, dziedāja, saskandinājās. starp tārpiem un trūdvielām lēnām pacēlās saskaņa. Man bija sauja kastaņu, Tev — […]

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Green ink

You know what they say about those who use green ink? Should I say – yes- she thought, all the words emerald. I’d have to research that, she nodded, words verdant and flourishing, sprouting a maze in her head. Green. The colour of death — Of the plants foraging for corpses with their toesies. The […]

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bloody time

how time sticks like unwanted blood, to the fingers, a blotch, spreading, seeping, invading the cracks of the moment. one breath, another, the clocks move sunwise, ticking off the remnants of life. how time flickers like a ghostly flame in the kitchen cooking up mysteries, slowly progressing, creeping all over memories like some ivy, strangling, […]

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pietura naktī

Klausījos, kā vilciens nolaižas uz sliedēm; te mana pietura – naktī, kaķu dziesmās un putnu aurēšanā. Liepas piejauca medus smaržu sikspārņu dejām; kad tevi vairs negaida, atliec sīknagus vecas mājas spārēs, Jasmīnu ziedlapas putēja nesakārtoti, viss krustu šķērsu rakstos, lietus iesistos pelēkā zemes palagā. Ko tava uguns gribēja, tumsā plaiksnīdama? Nepratu salasīt, ai, neprāta mīlestība […]

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Ugunspuķe

Nāc. Kastaņu sveces smaržo pēc piena. Strazdi nirst zālē, Un sliekas Ceļ maziņas piramīdas. Pienenes pūkojas visam pa vidu, Ābeles rōzā, Ieblakus ievas ietinas baltā, Rūgtums un dziesma, Debesu dziļums Atveŗas skrejošām ziedlapām. Dzīvajā zaļumā tauriņš Trausli līčloču plandās; Vien saule Dzen visu uz priekšu un ārā. Caur putekļu kupenām Zemē bez lietus Nāc Saulrietu […]

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no fear

the dead have no fear they have left their loves their hope and their glands with the rest of their frames here they have nothing to defend as the living raise voices and hands to sing towards their own end the battle’s been fought the victory or defeat now of no importance they lay down […]

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ko vairs atceros*

vējš parauj smiltis un pērnās lapas un kūlas stiebrus vecos kapos un kopto pagalmu kaktos, kur kaķi, vārnas un lustīgi sīļi svin pavasari starp gandrīz dīgstošām zīlēm, snieg- pulkstenēm un dažiem purpura krokusiem puspavērtiem. virpuļo sīkumi, skaidas saskaitās pulkos, pārlec žogiem, dzīviem un stiepļu rombiņos sapītiem, vīnogu- lāju noklātām zvirbuļu laktām, aizšvīkst līdz strazdu amata […]

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by your word

stretch out your hand reach out through the blind wall that surrounds the sandy beach in a snowstorm that might or might not be your innermost being your heart: a fisherman tired beyond description of eternal washing of nets dead fish and seaweed rotten birds and shells and plain simple dirt tired of catching the […]

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thought of today

There comes a time that people get tired of being trampled over by the iron feet of oppression. There comes a time when people get tired of being pushed out of the glittering sunlight of life’s July and left standing amidst the piercing chill of an Alpine November. The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr.

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Valuable lessons of today:

1. Olives and coffee poor breakfast make. 2. I hate lists. 3. Tautology is a weapon of mass destruction. 4. Praise God for apples. 5. When the cat is wet, it rains outside. Or is raining. Or has been. 6. I totally dislike the stickiness of summer. It gives me the creeps. The cats agree.

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pūpolu svētdienā

no kaut kurienes manā vētrainajā jaunībā atceros Imanta Ziedoņa dzejoli par biti (citāts pēc atmiņas lejāk). un kaut kā šķiet, ka tas lielā mērā raksturo patreizējo situāciju LELB. ne jau aiz laba prāta bites mirst. Kad bite dzeloni lieto, Tad bite mirst. Vai bite zina, ka dzelonis Viņu no dzīves šķirs? Ar darbu viņa ir […]

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Two. Dreams

there’s this. dreams. they are made of something. some people say, dreams are made of us, who we are, what we experience, what we remember or process. maybe they are right. or rather – there is some truth in what they say (about dreams, that is). and yet – there is more to dreams that […]

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spring

one knows the spring is here, because a) geese are flying northbound in formation b) first year and second year students are prone to rambling and daydreaming c) third and fourth year students turn up with all sorts of missed papers and questions d) people look suddenly happier in streets e) all the academic colleagues […]

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monday, february 18

got up at 5 tried to work went to bed at 6 was woken at 8 do not remember what i said someone else called at half nine i think i sent them somewhere, hopefully politely fell asleep at 10 or so got up at 11 started the laundry fell back in my bed totally […]

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no medicine

the writing has got stuck again. to unstick it, i moved furniture in my room. now it looks even more crazy. in the process i discovered a lost mug. it must have felt very sad behind the armchair. and why did ronald barthes have to write so engagingly and unquotably?

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