on women, iv

June Miller, wife of Henry Miller

“It was not only that June had the body of the women who climbed every night upon the stage of music halls and gradually undressed, but that it was impossible to situate her in any other atmosphere. The luxuriance of the flesh, its vivid tones, the fevered eyes and the weight of the voice, its huskiness, became instantly conjugated with sensual love. Other women lost this erotic phosphorescence as soon as they abandoned their role of dance-hall hostesses. But June’s night life was internal, it glowed from within her and it came, in part, from her treating every encounter as either intimate, or to be forgotten. It was as if, before every man, she lighted within herself the lamp lighted by waiting mistresses or wives at the end of the day, only they were her eyes, and it was her face which became like a poem’s bedchamber, tapestried with twilight and velvet. As it glowed from within her, it could appear in totally unexpected places, early in the morning, in a neglected cafĂ©, on a park bench, on a rainy morning in front of a hospital or a morgue, anywhere. It was always the soft light kept through the centuries for the moment of pleasure.”

~ by Anais Nin
From The Diary of Anais Nin, Volume I (1931-1934) (1966)
writing about June (pictured),
wife of Henry Miller

via Lit Bits



on women, iii


on women, ii

"There are only three things to be done with a woman.  
You can love her, suffer for her, 
or turn her into literature."

 ~ Henry Miller

on women

"How do those who contend that woman is the intellectual inferior of man 
account for the fact that she can give a man a piece of her mind 
365 days in the year and still have a huge reserve supply?"

~ Robert Elliott Gonzales, Poems and Paragraphs 



future songs, #1

"As I was descending the stairs of the garage, on my way to work this morning, I passed by a woman ascending with the hesitancy of someone being careful of their steps. I smiled Good Morning to her, and she said to me, “It’s easier on the way down.”
It had a weight to it that followed me to the ground floor. The words reminded me of the relation of potential to kinetic, of the ease of falling into temptation, of the way decline follows turning away from challenge, how growth is hard. That’s a lot for a song to hold, all there already in the refrain."

from Le Voyageur


some study that I used to know (Goyte parody)

Especially funny if you've watched the original Goyte video HERE ....



frivolous friday

Back when hanging around street corners was just clean fun !

you turn my world upside down !!


the what inspires me series ....

My teenage daughter watched Isabel Allende's TED talk in her Spanish class last year.  She told me it was excellent and I should take a look.  Well, it's taken me some months to do, but she was 100% right!  It helps that I already love Allende's novels and have read several over the years.  I also love the sub-genre of magical realism in literature - a genre much perfected by Latin American writers.  But magical realism and literature are not the topics of Allende's TED talk - she gets much more personal and speaks of living life with passion.  No, not erotic passion, but passion that changes the world around you.  

I know most of my readers will pass over the video and that's okay.  But you're going to miss a really great story about Sophia Loren ..... !!

Isabel Allende on passion:

"Heart is what drives us and determines our fate.  That is what I need for my characters in my books. A passionate heart.  I need mavericks, dissidents, adventurers, outsiders and rebels who ask questions, bend the rules and take risks.  Nice people with common sense do not make interesting characters.  They only make good former spouses."
 ~ Isabel Allende from her TED talk 



the what inspires me series ....

Cinderella is proof that a new pair of shoes 
can change your life.

thanks to SL at Assorted !


walk off the earth

I'm loving these guys!




the Flammarian woodcut, 1888
 "What, then, is this blue (sky), which certainly does exist, and which veils from us the stars during the day?"
from L'Atmosphere: Meteorologie Populaire by Camille Flammarian

Goatman left me this comment over at red dirt girl:
"I like the idea of normalcy being supported and encouraged by an underlying reality. A metaphor for obvious life being backed up by the reality of feeling, fear, emotion, and the need to defend our beliefs."
And I thought it was a wonderful companion to this quote by Annie Dillard:
"In the deeps are the violence and terror of which psychology has warned us. But if you ride these monsters deeper down, if you drop with them farther over the world's rim, you find what our sciences cannot locate or name, the substrate, the ocean or matrix or ether which buoys the rest, which gives goodness its power for good, and evil its power for evil, the unified field: our complex and inexplicable caring for each other, and for our life together here. This is given. It is not learned."
via: whiskey river



frivolous friday

adventures in retail ...



half life

Robert Van Vranken 2008

We walk through half of our life
as if it were a fever dream

barely touching ground

our eyes half open
our heart half closed.

Not half knowing who we are
we watch the ghost of us drift
from room to room
through friends and lovers
never quite as real as advertised.

Not saying half we mean
or meaning half we say
we dream ourselves ...

excerpt from 'half life'
~ by Stephen Levine from Breaking the Drought


I like this piece that I've 'clipped' because it reminds me to not be too complacent .... my days tend to have a certain routine / rhythm to them - work has its predictable parameters; kids coming and going; feed the dogs; feed the kids; pick up the dry cleaning; ..... in between the lines I am angsting over something, always, as it is my nature inherent. I've always admired the practice of being in the moment though I find it quite difficult to achieve. And that is what I believe Levine is saying here - don't live life halfway - pour your body and soul into it.


helen of troy does countertop dancing

Helen of Troy (1966) by the American artist Ren Wicks (1911-1998)

The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.

I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretence
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slab of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meanings are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.

Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They'd like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look--my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.

~ by Margaret Atwood

late night

Late night and rain wakes me, a downpour,
wind thrashing in the leaves, huge
ears, huge feathers,
like some chased animal, a giant
dog or wild boar. Thunder & shivering
windows; from the tin roof
the rush of water.

I lie askew under the net,
tangled in damp cloth, salt in my hair.
When this clears there will be fireflies
& stars, brighter than anywhere,
which I could contemplate at times
of panic. Lightyears, think of it.

Screw poetry, it’s you I want,
your taste, rain
on you, mouth on your skin.

~ by Margaret Atwood



frivolous friday



lisa kristine, photographer


"Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive."
~ Dalai Lama

Lisa Kristine is a San Francisco based photographer specializing in indigenous peoples and cause related photography. Best known for her evocative and saturated use of color, her fine art prints are among the most sought after and collected in her field.

via: the beauty we love 



 "Curiosity is the purest form of insubordination."

~ Vladimir Nabokov


the what inspires me series ...

from Jane Hirshfield, poet:
"Awareness and self-consciousness are delicate matters. Trying to examine more deeply what poems are and how they work has informed my life and brought me great joy. I don't think that attentiveness ever diminishes experience. There are times, however, when you don't want to be self-conscious. One is while writing the first draft of a new poem. At that stage too much consciousness is limiting and therefore damaging. It can wall off the permeable, the mysterious, everything you don't already know.
When I write, I don't know what is going to emerge. I begin in a condition of complete unknowing, an utter nakedness of concept or goal. A word appears, another word appears, an image. It is a moving into mystery. Everything I am and know and have lived goes into a poem. I hope I'll never be governed by theoretical knowledge when I set out to write.
Poems are born in part from the history and culture of other poems, but in writing I hope to learn a new thing, something fresh about what's going on in that moment, in my own life and in the world. Craft consciousness is essential to the finished poem, but comes later."
via the beauty we love


the sunday news

Flag Clothing Deemed 'Not to Code'

In response to our sister blog Lola's Loves' post Stars and Stripes, many readers questioned the ethical use of patriotic clothing.  Having reviewed Federal Law regarding Flag Etiquette, it has been noted at Lola's Loves that:
 "The flag should not be used as part of a costume or athletic uniform, except that a flag patch may be used on the uniform of military personnel, fireman, policeman and members of patriotic organizations."
Outraged, our esteemed reader Soubriquet responds:
 Does that mean all these young ladies are acting treasonably? How shocking. I've a good mind to demand they take off their flag-themed clothing, and burn it with due reverence, whilst saluting !!
We at the sunday news whole-heartedly endorse Soubriquet's demand and expect, in the near future, Soubriquet's flag wearing hitch hiker to also follow suit.  We want photographic proof ...

 Agony Anne's Advice Column

Dear Agony Anne,

Each night when I go to bed with Frank, my husband of 15 years, I look forward to, umm.... stimulating discourse.  In the early years of our marriage, Frank was quite the stimulator and always found inventive and erudite ways to umm .... stimulate me.  Lately, however, when Frank goes to bed, he falls asleep immediately.  Instead of lively and ummm .... stimulating discourse, I lie in bed awake and longing for the Frank of yore instead of the Frank who snores.  What can I do to save our marriage?

Sleepless and Stifled

Dear Sleepless and Stifled,

Yours truly, Anne

 The Chikken Suit Story

In a move considered to be both daring and avant garde,  an Austrian / Japanese design duo has created the latest trend in chikkin fashion.  Chikkins - no longer shall you feel naked and exploited exposing your ruffled feathers to the world !!  Fashion has heard your cries and risen to the challenge:

the 'Austrian' - side view

the 'Austrian' front view

for Chikkins on the ski slopes - a furry alternative

the 'Japanese' front view

the 'Knitted' for apres ski wear or just hangin' in the hen house

For more Chikkin Clothing and their Fashion Week Premier - Go HERE



frivolous friday

I have a dream !



happy 4th



if you forget me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

~ by Pablo Neruda