Author: Purity would be as violent as the colour white. Angela is the colour of hazelnut.
I have a great need to live from much poverty of spirit and not have any luxury of soul. Angela is luxury and upsets me. I will move away from her and enter a monastery, which is to say, become poor. I chose today to wear some very old trousers and a torn shirt. I feel good dressed in rags, I am nostalgic for poverty. I ate only fruit and eggs, I refused the rich blood of meat, I wanted to eat only what's born without agony, just blossoming naked like an egg, like the grape.
A Breath of Life, Lispector
Friday
Thursday
She's at it again, fainted
into a whipped up sunned out mass.
Whats she gonna do now, that all her previous advices have gone to pot?
Lightly gathering memories of saw-dust, the smell of it
Poured like cooked sugars, into tiny pyramids.
Peek inside, to find curled up, gathered up bodies
Protecting themselves from the wind and the grain.
She wants to hear it again, the whistle of a wooden instrument
Blown all the way through holes
that make notes. How she longs to bare her sweet throat
Into the outdoors. Out of her pointed roof.
into a whipped up sunned out mass.
Whats she gonna do now, that all her previous advices have gone to pot?
Lightly gathering memories of saw-dust, the smell of it
Poured like cooked sugars, into tiny pyramids.
Peek inside, to find curled up, gathered up bodies
Protecting themselves from the wind and the grain.
She wants to hear it again, the whistle of a wooden instrument
Blown all the way through holes
that make notes. How she longs to bare her sweet throat
Into the outdoors. Out of her pointed roof.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)