Lucid Obscurity

The sky appeared stormy, moonlit cloud banked, but no storm came. I daydreamed by night, memories of afternoons like dust motes drifting in a shaft of sunlight bisecting a room. The room I couldn't find. It seemed as though I wandered ages these corridors leading nowhere until I commanded a doorway to reveal a sunlit garden. Lingering there, I caught a diaphanous fragrance, as the scent of some unseen flower lurking in deep green shade. How much time passed, I don't know, but returning to myself, I saw the waning moon washing the stars from a clear, cold sky. I withdrew to my real house to ponder the mystery of imagination.

I have been in a very John Ashbery mood of late, so that's what you get today. This brief piece is so like the work of Pierre Reverdy that I almost think it could be a translation miss-attributed by an editors error.

( Sunday Verse )

Danger! Danger! Publicity!

The Sunday magazine of the New York Times has an article about on-line diaries which prominently mentions LJ. (The Times site requires registration for new visitors (it's free) but it's worth the trouble, since you then get to e-mail yourself and others the full text of their recent articles free.) I suppose that all the Times' readers with computers will now be flooding LJ, seeing what all the fuss is about. There goes the neighborhood!

Oh, yeah. Link stolen from leprosy.