I am just floating
Infinitely placid
Infinitely calm
And infinitely spacious with you
I love you in the movies
With sunglasses
And your favourite Leonard Cohen songs
When we fall into your kitchen drawers
And play spooning
I’ll be here in the morning
Singing into your fingertips
Candy covered lips
I could have chosen not to be hurt
But there is no life in that
I wouldn’t change this for eternity
This is lovely

Michael Baumgart


April 6, 2020

She, a nocturnal creature, deathless, inimitable, alone.

Salvatore Quasimodo
Song Of Apollyon
trans. Manolis Aligizakis

“No? You don’t think so?” Svidrigaïlov went on, looking at him deliberately. “But what do you say to this argument (help me with it): ghosts are as it were shreds and fragments of other worlds, the beginning of them. A man in health has, of course, no reason to see them, because he is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the sake of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as soon as one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of the organism is broken, one begins to realise the possibility of another world; and the more seriously ill one is, the closer becomes one’s contact with that other world, so that as soon as the man dies he steps straight into that world. I thought of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, you could believe in that, too.”

Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Crime and Punishment

All I ever did to that apartment was hang fifty yards of yellow theatrical silk across the bedroom windows, because I had some idea that the gold light would make me feel better, but I did not bother to weight the curtains correctly and all that summer the long panels of transparent golden silk would blow out the windows and get tangled and drenched in the afternoon thunderstorms. That was the year, my twenty-eighth, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it.

Joan Didion
Slouching Towards Bethlehem
Goodbye to All That


April 6, 2020

What are men to rocks and mountains?

Jane Austen
Pride and Prejudice