Singing Boys

 
They begged the boy
for one more song.
Just one more song they cried.

So, the boy sang.

He sang till he wept.
He sang till they all wept.
He sang till the walls wept
   and the gutters and the branches.

When the darkness came
and the cold winds
only the boy was light.

Honey and egg yolk colored flames
drew the only shadows
that differed from the darkness
   that fell around the town.

We watched as he burned,
delighted with the flames
glinting on our lowered blades.

We all watched
the beautiful boy burn
as he sang.

We wept. We laughed.
We sank our legs
in the warm ashes,
   cold winds blowing
   high above our heads.

Soon enough
it would be winter.

Soon enough
there would be no more songs.

(from runic inscriptions in Schiedam)

Fairy Tales From A Cubicle

Cold and Heat

A master of Ch'an said: If it is warm, let the heat kill you. If it is cold, let the cold kill you. All experience penetrates to the bone. This shimmering film of hope and fear we cling to as ourselves is held up only by great unconscious effort. And yet, this effort misses the mark: at most we manage to forge the past or falsify the future. Just like heat and cold, present experience fully pierces the present body and the present mind. Furthermore, all this, the outer heat and cold, the thoughts of the inner self and even this body and this mind are the timeless display of experience. Let heat and cold kill you. Give up this tiresome show of pretense.

753rd View of Mount Fuji

Steve Reich - Clapping Music

Lee Marvin and Angela Dickinson perform Clapping Music (or Point Blank).

(by Peter van der Ham, via Kottke)

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