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Archive for March, 2009

A war-wife waits by the window. The question is not whether he’ll come back or not, but the constant looming up of thoughts of mourn. It all holds in suspension, like a look hanging from a string — like a paralysis of little flies.

She thought he had a name once, but now she is not so sure she has ever even met him. But this is not what matters. What matters is perhaps that she has accepted that fiction as her overall reality. That she stopped writing to him a long time ago because she got tired of keeping letters that were for someone she does not remember. No address was penned in the envelopes.

Most single men in town have tried to settle with her. They don’t understand. Maybe it is precisely her unfettered nature what allures them, what makes them want to have her, completely. But no completeness is ever an option for one who waits. She calmly accepts the condition in which she lives; her utterly anachronic and old fashioned handicap for existing in a thirsty-for-pairing off, marital world, and offers red bunkers of caress and booze to those she likes. But measured in seasons, like wine.

This is why it is irrelevant if there was ever a man by her side, if he was a sailor or a soldier, if he will come back or if he will not. The unaccountable is that he -her man- is not with her today, and so… she waits.

Everything else is time.

She waits without despairing of the fact, however, but imminently this condition turns her into a huge secret… like a balloon. No man will understand -yet will want to burst her open- and there is no point in explaining the lack of flesh and blood referent for whom she waits — No man will understand.

-”I am a war-wife”, she says, and kisses his mouth. “I will give you all the present I can hold in my hands, with all my heart, but bare in mind I am war-wife, and wedded to that.”
-”Yes”, he says, but in the end of his “s” there is a “no, not really; I want it all.”

A romance must be present continuous and short for all she knows. She can very well cope with that; but just as long as her secret is safe in the distant country of war -or no war-, and in the invisible portrait-pendant hanging from her neck. Just as long as her lovers don’t interfere between herself and the window. She is a war-wife, after all; regardless if there was ever a man who left to war, regardless if there was ever a war to go to.

held in suspension

held in suspension

L.

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Phantom pain

Phantom pain feels like it’s coming from a body part that’s no longer there. For decades, doctors believed this post-amputation phenomenon was a psychological problem, but experts now recognize a physical cause for this pain — and that it actually originates in the brain.

Most people who’ve had a limb removed report that it sometimes feels as if their amputated limb is still there. This painless phenomenon, known as phantom limb sensation, can also occur in people who were born without limbs. Phantom limb sensations may include feelings of cold, warmth, itchiness or tingling — but should not be confused with phantom pain. Similarly, pain from the remaining stump of an amputated limb is not the same as phantom pain.

For some people, phantom pain gets better over time without treatment. For others, managing phantom pain can be challenging. You and your doctor can work together to treat phantom pain effectively with medication or other therapies.

[I felt like sharing this piece of information. enjoy.

it comes from here]

L.

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springed epitaph

Malcolm Lowry
Late of Bowery……………………………………………………………His prose was flowery
His prose was flowery
And often glowery………………………………………………………………………………………… daily
He lived, nightly, and drank, daily,……………………………lived.………………nightly
And died playing the ukulele……………………………………………………………………………………often glowery

dsc00117He died playing

dsc000641………………………………………………….he died playing

dsc00105

……………………………………………

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………………………….the ukulele.

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This morning WordPress automatically generated these words as related to our blog:
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Hopper Licorice Sap Alcoholic Depression Fragrance

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Be it coincidence or be it the clever nature of computers, ‘Automatically Generated’ seems to be dead on…
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L.

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A modest bit of aerial music recorded in the halls of Liqüirita, to help our readers through days of much work:
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…………………………………………………………………
fly away
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(For some reason it’s what I’ve been singing lately –obsessively, repeatedly– on my way to everywhere I go)

L.

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Terreno perdido

En la lucha territorial hombre contra libro, libro parece estar ganando:

  

L.

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Once upon a time
there was an old diary
of a missing sailor
or something
like that.
And in that diary
the missing sailor
had placed
this picture:

Liquiritia tree, by Oscar Villanueva

Liquiritia tree, by Oscar Villanueva

The sailor told
how he had come upon
that tree
and sat there
and waited.
In winter its sap would be sweet,
but in the fall
its veins ran with black bile.

L.

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