Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
— John Gillespie Magee, J
It is expected to sell for $2,000-$3,000. Featured at the end of "Moonwalker," the head lights up in addition to moving. The auction will take place April 29 from Shaan Kokin/Julien's Auctions.
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door –
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor –
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
Billy Collins
Dieter Mersch
Movements of Avant-garde Art:
›Aisthesis‹, ›Ekstasis‹, and ›Askesis‹.
›Aisthesis‹, ›Ekstasis‹, and ›Askesis‹.
›Aisthesis‹, ›Ekstasis‹, and ›Askesis‹.
»withdrawal of art from art« (Joseph Beuys)
»It must turn against that which constitutes its own concept,« says Theodor W. Adorno in his Ästhetische Theorie, »and in so doing it will become uncertain right down to the very fibers of its being. It is not, however, to be dismissed as an abstract negation. By attacking that which the entire tradition considered to be guaranteed, the bedrock on which it stood, it transforms itself qualitatively; it turns into another.«
I string love along with
Clever eyes and moist lips.
He reaches out to hold me as
I dodge his grasp with swinging hips.
Feather caresses and sexy glimpses
He stares and inside, I smile.
Our eyes meet, love thinks he knows.
So I let his feeling fester for a while.
The attachment grows, sick and twisted.
As one side is stronger, it starts to bend.
I feel his embrace hold longer and I know
That this is the beginning of the end.
My smile slopes with weight
As my lungs close up with panic.
He keeps coming back for more.
Love put me in a straight jacket.
Lost in the maze of a circular design,
Of finding salvation and then I run,
Love’s orbit in my life spins me away.
Death to Love by my atavistic gun.
