Wednesday, April 27, 2011


Peculiar destiny of being; to a delicate butterfly, a charming canary is a monstrous beast!

Monday, April 18, 2011

The One Who Doubts!

An animal who doubts its habits; I want to be that animal.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


There is no sublime in loss, only nostalgia.
Page after page, the lost sensation cannot be found.

In the collected fallen petals of memory, the tenderness is lost!

Thanks to M.V. for the sensation. Chickpea Chateau, April 2011

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Demonized Assassin

The first time he told the story, I was shocked. He told it to his adviser and his wife. They adore rabbits. I was frozen; my ears were burning.

My childhood secret, the rabbit story, was told by him to everyone we met. Almost always in the first meeting. Strangers and acquaintances, friends and colleagues, it didn’t matter, he was a democratic storyteller. The rabbit story was an icebreaker for him; something he could count on to launch a friendlier conversation and with its strangeness, the rabbit story, insured a cool friendship with the audience. And why not, it was a good story with a natural suspense point and a needed complexity for a short narrative.

The rabbit story pronounced our confidence in our relationship. After all who would tell horrible embracing horror stories about his wife in her presence, unless the couple are so cool and well-matched. There was always a short pause before the audience started to laugh, and that was the moment I jumped in with my wide smile. The rabbit story also distinguished him from me in his ideal way: he gentle, normal, and loving, and me aggressive, abnormal, and demonic.

It never occurred to him that his rabbit story was my childhood secret. I never told him I hated to be the demonized rabbit killer.

Saturday, April 09, 2011

The Void Is Felt!

Searching for the crack,
Finding the hole,
Feeling the void,
There is nothing special about this crack, this hole, or this void,
Nothing special about this search, this find, this feel,
It is just too close, too near!

My tongue searches for the cracked tooth and rests on it,
The void is felt!

Black on Maroon, 1959, Mark Rothko