And something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings, and I made my own way, deciphering that fire, and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing, and I suddenly saw the heavens unfastened and open.
~Pablo Neruda
~Pablo Neruda
A Sunday Kind of Love
In a heartbeat. I want to frame this on my wall right this very minute. Who can say no to a pair of sassy red shoes and a good vinyl? The scratchy pops are so comforting. Like the sound of a type writer, the almost inaudible click-clacking of patten-leather shoes on freshly waxed floors. Embers sizzling in the first drag of a newly-lit cigarette and tomato sauce simmering over a gas-burning stove. The tick-tacking of the turn signal in a car, the soft ding of the MUNI bus. Erhu’s on the streets of Chinatown and the waves crashing against the rocks at Fort Cronkite.
