The little sparrows Hop ingenuously About the pavement Quarreling With sharp voices Over those things That interest them. But we who are wiser Shut ourselves in On either hand And no one knows Whether we think good Or evil. Then again, The old man who goes about Gathering dog lime Walks in the gutter Without looking up And his tread Is more majestic than That of the Episcopal minister Approaching the pulpit Of a Sunday. These things Astonish me beyond words.
In the morning as the storm begins to blow away the clear sky appears for a moment and it seems to me that there has been something simpler than I could ever believe simpler than I could have begun to find words for not patient not even waiting no more hidden than the air itself that became part of me for a while with every breath and remained with me unnoticed something that was here unnamed unknown in the days and the nights not separate from them not separate from them as they came and were gone it must have been here neither early nor late then by what name can I address it now holding out my thanks
Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
I have a little bag of postcards I’ve collected from museums and galleries that I like to use as bookmarks. usually I’ll choose them according to how well they match with the cover or even the mood of the book – I used (one of) Rothko’s Red on Maroon (1959) for Bluets by Maggie Nelson because the colours looked so good on each other and because of the :)/:( feeling I got from both the artwork and the book. this is Richter, Rosen (1994) and I thought about running when I first saw it.
“A Selection of Snapshots” presents a selection of snapshots and accompanying inscriptions, sent by Felix Gonzalez-Torres to a group of close friends between 1991-1995. He died on January 9, 1996.
Little Bristling Soul 