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Nick Drake 19 June 1948

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I live because the mountains do not laugh and the worms do not sing

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Do I look like someone who has something to do here on earth?' —That's what I'd like to answer the busybodies who inquire into my activities.

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Bloomsday, June 16

…I love flowers I’d love to have the whole place swimming in roses God of heaven there’s nothing like nature the wild mountains then the sea and the waves rushing then the beautiful country with fields of oats and wheat and all kinds of things and all the fine cattle going about that would do your heart good to see rivers and lakes and flowers all sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of the ditches primroses and violets nature it is as for them saying there’s no God I wouldn’t give a snap of my two fingers for all their learning why don’t they go and create something I often asked him atheists or whatever they call themselves go and wash the cobbles off themselves first then they go howling for the priest and they dying and why why because they’re afraid of hell on account of their bad conscience ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all who ah that they don’t know neither do I so there you are they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a woman’s body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldn’t answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didn’t know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the Jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharans and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down Jo me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

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Happy Father's day...

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What shall I do with this body they gave me, so much my own, so intimate with me?

For being alive, for the joy of calm breath, tell me, who should I bless?

I am the flower, and the gardener as well, and am not solitary, in earth’s cell.

My living warmth, exhaled, you can see, on the clear glass of eternity.

A pattern set down, until now, unknown.

Breath evaporates without trace, but form no one can deface.

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13.6.1888

My past is everything I failed to be

Fernando Pessoa

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“And Yet the Books And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings, That appeared once, still wet As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn, And, touched, coddled, began to live In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up, Tribes on the march, planets in motion. “We are,” they said, even as their pages Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame Licked away their letters. So much more durable Than we are, whose frail warmth Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes. I imagine the earth when I am no more: Nothing happens, no loss, it's still a strange pageant, Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley. Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born, Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.”

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“Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone"

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From this day on 'Til the end of time I'm going to leave all my grief and woes behind I'll drift and I'll go Where the wind blows Where life carries me From this day on Until they come to take me Life won't break me Or grind me down I'll follow where the river flows Until I reach the sea From this day on 'Til the end of days I'll deal with whatever is thrown with a smile on my face Roll with the punch With charm and grace I'll go lightly, smile politely From this day on 'Til the end of time I'm going to leave cynicism way behind I'll trust and I'll go Where the wind blows Where life carries me From this day on Until they come to take me They won't break me Or grind me down I'll follow, where the river flows Until I reach the sea From this day on 'Til the end of time I'll count to monitor the flaw That corrupt and foul my mind I'll seek to grow Although, although Right now I'm real low So tomorrow Or perhaps the day after that Matt Elliott

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I am a cage, in search of a bird

Franz Kafka d: 3.6.1924

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It is June. I am tired of being brave. Anne Sexton *Ho(u)spitals series

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Two years without Mersula...

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“as long as there are human beings about there is never going to be any peace for any individual upon this earth (or anywhere else they might escape to). all you can do is maybe grab ten lucky minutes here or maybe an hour there. something is working toward you right now, and I mean you and nobody but you.”

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I tried to put a bird in a cage.                 O fool that I am!          For the bird was Truth. Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put                  Truth in a cage! And when I had the bird in the cage,                  O fool that I am!           Why, it broke my pretty cage. Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put                   Truth in a cage! And when the bird was flown from the cage,                   O fool that I am!             Why, I had nor bird nor cage. Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put                    Truth in a cage!              Heigh-ho! Truth in a cage.

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Marin Marais

31.5.1656, Paris

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Depression is not sadness, not even a state of mind, it is a (neuro)philosophical (dis)position Mark Fisher