Sunday, October 6, 2013

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons


LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats        5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question….        10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,        15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,        20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;        25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;        30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go        35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—        40
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare        45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,        50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
  So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—        55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?        60
  And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress        65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
  And should I then presume?
  And how should I begin?
.      .      .      .      .      .      .      .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets        70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
.      .      .      .      .      .      .      .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!        75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?        80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,        85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,        90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—        95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
  Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
  That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,        100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:        105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
  “That is not it at all,
  That is not what I meant, at all.”
.      .      .      .      .      .      .      .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,        115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …        120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.        125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown        130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

(Text via

Friday, September 13, 2013

- rick owens 

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Sunday, May 26, 2013


LESSONS - Be careful to recognize when other people are too strongly affecting your ideas and emotions. You are an adult and can put stronger conviction into the accuracy of your own thoughts and feelings. 

"Watch your thoughts for they become words. Watch your words for they become actions. Watch your actions for they become... habits. Watch your habits, for they become your character. And watch your character, for it becomes your destiny! We are what we think we become."

LESSONS - learning to love is like learning a language, its harder to figure out he older you get.  

Perhaps there are people you are destined to know forever and others who cross your path at a specific time and place, however random these occurrences may seem.

LESSONS - its hard to know who you are if you don't know where you come from ....but that dosent mean you wont ever figure it out. 

Cancer (June 21 - July 22)
This year is already quite different than before, and you may not even recognize yourself by next December. Remember to stay true to yourself — it pays off.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

the future will be confusing


Swimming Pool designed by Verner Panton, 1969  

mink pink

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Adventure Land

Sun Parekeet .aka. Sun Conure .aka. Aratinga Solstitialis

Lara Sone - Adventure Girl Makeup Look.

Venture to the depths of the Ocean (Image via

A MAP TO REMEMBER (you musent forget your map)

somewhere in Vietnam ....

A mysterious doorway (image via oraclefox )

Jules Verne The Man Who Invented the Future by Franz Born 
Illustrated by Peter P. Plasencia ©1964 Prentice-Hall, Inc.  

ready to seduce the night!
Elsa Hosk by Guy Aroch.  

Meet me at sundown ....on the balcony
(Behind the scenes for the Pirelli Calendar. 2013)

Monday, February 25, 2013

Another Dawn / Imagining a Warmer Future

b&b . Minneapolis, Minnesota. Late February.
over and over, I've spent too much time imagining, waiting for approaching plans. too many destinations, expectations. emphasis on expectations, your imagination fooled you again.  La Rie En Rose. hard when the glasses come off.
too many hours on a road, in a car, in the bubble. 
When I get down, imagination steps in. 
The past then a fantasy, or moment un-remembered.

Naomi Campbell & Christy Turlington. 
Photographer Steven Meisel. "The Face"1990 

Model Lucie von Alten. Photo by Nikolay Biryukov & Styling by Stella Gosteva
“End of a Season” for Fashion Gone Rogue.

Edvard Munch (Norwegian 1863-1944)
Kiss By The Window,1892. Oil on canvas.

Model Cora Keegan photographed by Craig Salmon. 
“White Light” for Fashion Gone Rogue.  

Sleepless. W Magazine, December 2012. 
Image by Mert & Marcus, Modeled by Natalia Vodianova.