Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsicord pavane by Purcell
And the racer’s twelve-speed bike.
The machinery of grace is always simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle, steers.
And in the playing, Purcell’s chords are played away.
So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante’s heaven, and melt into the air.
If it doesn’t, of course, I’ve fallen. So much is chance,
So much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsicordists prove
Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.
— Michael Donaghy
Things change every day, Mr Nakata. With each new dawn it’s not the same world as the day before. And you’re not the same person you were, either.
- Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore
Swimming Pool by Leandro Erlich is an art installation with a permanent home at the 21st Century Museum of Art of Kanzawa, Japan. It has also had temporary installations at MoMAPS1 and the Venice Biennale.
Conceived in 1999, Swimming Pool allows visitors to look down into a seemingly full pool of water with fully clothed visitors walking around the bottom of the pool. From below, the blurry vision of looking up when underwater is recreated using a thin piece of glass with water running over top of it.
Complete with a climbing ladder, swimming pool is a fun and interactive installation that creates the illusion of being underwater whilst remaining completely dry.
Erykah Badu - Gone Baby, Don’t Be Long
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one’s hands –
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
— Louis MacNeice
Mr. Peterson’s Field Guide
I’ve had my share
of the orange plaid settees,
the mildewed cigarette air,
the nylon sheets. Nights,
as I drew pistils and spathes
in the Rob Roy Motorcourt,
the Matterhorn Lodge, I could
hear car chases through the walls.
Then there were raunchy
giggles and fumbled keys,
but these were minor distractions.
Worse were the tired salesmen
hungry for talk. I perfected excuses,
escapes—there’d be too many
questions for an old man
with a suitcase full of flowers
and I could never convey
the urgency, the need for
freshness, or the terrible way
the petals collapse.
— Audrey Henderson