Wir schwelgen, begann nun Alabanda wieder, wir töten im Rausche die Zeit.

— Hölderlin, Hyperion

Processed with VSCO with kc25 preset

“Well, I’ve been photographing democratically,” I replied
“But what have you been taking pictures of?”
“I’ve been outdoors, nowhere, in nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, just woods and dirt, a little asphalt here and there”

— from an Interview with David Eggleston in “Democratic Forest”

There is a Void, outside of Existence, which if entered into
Englobes itself & becomes a Womb

— William Blake

Mein Haus ist durchscheinend, aber nicht aus Glas. Eher wäre es aus einer Art Rauch. Seine Wände verdichten und verdünnen sich nach meinem Wunsch. Manchmal ziehe ich sie eng zusammen, wie einen Isolierungspanzer… Aber manchmal lasse ich die Wände meines Hauses sich entfalten in ihrem eigenen Raum, welcher die unendliche Ausdehnbarkeit ist.

–Georges Spyridaki

Everybody Eats When They Come To My House
Cab Calloway

Have a banana, Hannah
Try the salami, Tommy
Get with the gravy, Davy
Everybody eats when they come to my house

Try a tomato, Plato
Here’s cacciatore, Dory
Taste the bologna, Tony
Everybody eats when they come to my house

I fix your favorite dishes
Hopin’ this good food fills ya
Work my hands to the bone in the kitchen alone
You better eat if it kills ya

Pass me a pancake, Mandrake
Have an hors d’oeuvre-y, Irvy
Look in the fendel, Mendel
Everybody eats when they come to my house

Hannah, Davy, Tommy, Dora, Mandrake
Everybody eats when they come to my house

Pastafazoola, Tallulah
Oh, do have a bagel, Fagel
Now, don’t be so bashful, Nashville
Everybody eats when they come to my house

Hey, this is a party, Marty
Well, you get the cherry, Jerry
Now look, don’t be so picky, Mickey
‘Cause everybody eats when they come to my house

All of my friends are welcome
Don’t make me coax you, moax you
Eat the tables, the chairs, the napkins, who cares?
You gotta eat if it chokes you

Oh, do have a knish, Nisha
Pass him the latke, Matke
Chile con carne for Barney
Everybody eats when they come to my house

Face, buster, chair, chops, fump
Everybody eats when they come to my house

— Cab Callloway, Everybody Eats when they come to my house

Gilman’s room was of good size but queerly irregular shape; the north wall slanting perceptibly inward from the outer to the inner end, while the low ceiling slanted gently downward in the same direction. Aside from an obvious rat-hole and the signs of other stopped-up ones, there was no access—nor any appearance of a former avenue of access—to the space which must have existed between the slanting wall and the straight outer wall on the house’s north side, though a view from the exterior shewed where a window had been boarded up at a very remote date. The loft above the ceiling—which must have had a slanting floor—was likewise inaccessible. When Gilman climbed up a ladder to the cobwebbed level loft above the rest of the attic he found vestiges of a bygone aperture tightly and heavily covered with ancient planking and secured by the stout wooden pegs common in colonial carpentry. No amount of persuasion, however, could induce the stolid landlord to let him investigate either of these two closed spaces.

As time wore along, his absorption in the irregular wall and ceiling of his room increased; for he began to read into the odd angles a mathematical significance which seemed to offer vague clues regarding their purpose. Old Keziah, he reflected, might have had excellent reasons for living in a room with peculiar angles; for was it not through certain angles that she claimed to have gone outside the boundaries of the world of space we know? His interest gradually veered away from the unplumbed voids beyond the slanting surfaces, since it now appeared that the purpose of those surfaces concerned the side he was already on.

— H.P. Lovecraft: Dreams in the Witch House

Cities are what concrete made using humans.

Explains a lot, like pyramids, empty houses, cities at night when all the shops are closed.

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

— Gerald Manley Hopkins

Each single thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being each one indoors dwells;
Selves, goes itself, crying What I do is me, for that I came.

— Gerald Manley Hopkins

“City Of Tiny Lites”

City of tiny lites
Don’t you wanna go
Hear the tiny auto horns
When they tiny blow
Tiny lightin’
In the storm
Tiny blankets
Keep you warm
Tiny pillows
Tiny sheets
Talkin’ bout those tiny cookies
That the peoples eats
City of tiny lites
Maybe you should know
That it’s over there
In the tiny dirt somewhere

You can see it any time
When you get the squints
From your downers and your wine
You’re so big
It’s so tiny
Every cloud is silver line-y
The great escape for all ot you
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do
Tiny is as tiny do

City of tiny lites
Don’t you wanna go
Hear the tiny auto horns
When they tiny blow
Tiny lightin’
In the storm
Tiny blankets
Keep you warm
Tiny pillows
Tiny tiny sheets
Talkin’ bout them tiny cookies
That the peoples eats
That the peoples eats
That the peoples eats
That the peoples eats
And it’s over there
It’s over there
It’s over there
It’s over there