House of Cards

August 7, 2017

Time is strapped for cash. Time lies, spills
confessions. Sundial translates shadow, stone
marks time passing. I try to put time to bed,
but time never sleeps with me. I suspect

he’s been sleeping with my sister at odd
hours and in between times. I’m a grafter
in time’s casino. You can’t beat the house
with a dead horse or a pair of knaves.

The queen clubs her last ace in the hole
with a spade. I cheat at solitaire. I cheat
at hearts. The deck is stacked like a brick
house. Time is lost in translation.

Time reveals sins of omission and intuition.
The croupier deals me a tiffany diamond.
Our wedding checks bounce. I’m in the red,
but time is always flush.

Deborah Hauser

not illness

August 7, 2017

27 May 1918

There is nothing wrong with my body but everything with my nervous control. This is not illness – underneath there is an immense content of a right process well continuing. All the discomforts are local. There are times when I take pleasure in my nightmare of slavery – but I do not somehow believe in it. One is so & so & karma dissolves before one’s personal will.

But there is dullness, a fatigue of spirit, a vast isolation.

Mary Butts
Journals

Suddenly, with the dizzying and limitless astonishment of a nightmare, she perceived that there was a building standing towards the summit of the hill [beyond their garden bounds], within the dark woods. She saw it very imperfectly, but what she saw made the blood sing in her head and her knees feel weak. How could there be, in that rustic spot, towering, buttressed walls, topped by arches, colonnade supporting colonnade? And, still above these, vast rotundas, from each of which was lifted up on high a long staff surmounted by a gleaming sign while, against the walls, were great staircases which branched and joined and branched again, and ascended in giant flights, at each turn of which were newels strangely shaped and crowned with finial figures, perhaps winged, though their detail was not to be discerned in that twilit air. Or were they living beings? Of a gigantic size, suggesting acres of walls, of a monstrous, heroic style, vaguely Aztec, Assyrian or Muscovite, shimmering in the dark air as if, having erupted on that bad spot, having been lifted on a convulsion of the earth’s crust to stand under the shocked heavens, it was dripping with the white fires of the regions whence it was spewed up, it hung there as a sign before her eyes, to show whose was the kingdom, under what lordship they had come.

Phyllis Paul
A Little Treachery

Night visions

August 7, 2017

7th August

These daily rituals where I feel I have control of my life. Hold the world in the fingers of my hand. Until the vivid evening falls and the last shadows stand around us. Then the air is fixed and cold.

A world of huntresses, of women, Dianas chaste and rare – rare at least to chastity. Recklessly riding their men, displaying nothing if not their athletic female will.

Ah, to crack the skies with a stroke of lightening, or to run like fire through the neatly stacked corn stalks – surprising secrets from everyone.

Now, it is still dark outside. Countless lovers move secretly to nefarious purposes. Oh, yeah, the crazy viciousness of love defies all comprehension.

#

To A & L’s for supper yesterday. They have a pair of new black kittens. Frisky little hairballs designed for mischief. One went missing during the day and might have climbed out of a window. But no. After a comprehensive search of the house, A found it hiding in a table drawer…