Lana // 19 // Toronto

the sea-side echo of a conch shell.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .


music box

broken prose & poetry



Sometime A Fire


Banks; Waiting game


"How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind’s labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not laguage but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.”

- Jack Gilbert, The Forgotten Dialect of The Heart


The Moody Blues; Nights in white satin


f-i-g-o asked: Your blog is so lovely and inspiring! If you don't mind, what are some of your favorite blogs?

Thank you, It means a lot 

There are too too many: the-final-sentence, proustituterue-des-lys, thewordsanctuary, saisonlune, louise-dew, natgeofound, thejazzloftproject, twobirdsonabranch, inkywings, commovente, dansedelunela-femme-terrible, humansofnewyork, etc. etc. etc. I love everybody I follow, this is just a little sample 


Anonymous asked: Where do you find all these poems?

Scattered all over the place; I’ll come across them while reading textbooks or fictions works. Sometimes somebody will send me a poem via text or facebook or email or I’ll end up at a poetry event where I hear of a new artist. I find a lot of poems online as well. 



You are a shadow, wreathed in the judgment
of darkened cathedrals, bloodied rose gardens,
sacramental souls lying scattered on the floor.

And I, I am frightened by your scent 
like opium, like rust in the rain.”

—Kristina Costa, Elements: Love in Five Parts


Feist - The bad in each other

In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love; they had five hundred years of democracy and peace and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.

- Orson Welles, The Third Man, 1949 


Every day I count wasted in which there has been no dancing.

- Friedrich Nietszche

I want to create
real art
but all I can seem to do
is light fires with my tongue
and inspire pain.
— Michelle K.Frustration
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