Originally uploaded by Jaci Sue
February 27, 2009
February 22, 2009
February 19, 2009
February 17, 2009
February 12, 2009
And it poured out like springtime-
like breathing in a storm cloud.
In the lost pages of childhood
and here in the twilight of who I used to be
images hold my hand and heart still.
It is a mirror held up and dropped again;
it is the road spooling out behind;
it is a river writen on the palm of my hand;
it has broken my heart
February 10, 2009
We were led to believe in the process of memory, in the significance of past tense formation of character, in the finalization of landscape.
I have locked a secret word in my heart, and lost, the key will not be used. I have found the mythical names of remembering and from them constructed others. Born and becoming: I have whispered the word into man, taken my dream of nighttime drives, moved out and into, and fallen back on the promises of youth.
In the past few years I've heard several people lament the loss of the night sky for most of the world's population, and I'm right there with them, lamenting too. What will perpetual twilight at night do to our dreams; to our selves?
But there is stillness to be found in a city even yet, with perpetual twilight looming. There are moments of forgetting one's self even in the sodium glow of streetlights; of being still and small in the universe.