// Last day of Autumn //

Here I came to the very edge, where nothing at all needs saying

everything is absorbed through weather and the sea

and the moon swam back, its rays all silvered,

and time and again the darkness would be broken by the crash of a wave

and every day on the balcony of the sea,

wings open, fire is born

and everything is blue again like morning.

Pablo Neruda

// Stop //

"Yet you could feel a vibration in the air, a sense of hastening.  It had started with the moon, inaccessible poem that it was.  Now men had walked upon it, rubber treads on a pearl of the gods.  Perhaps it was an awareness of time passing, the last summer of the decade.  Sometimes I just wanted to raise my hands and stop.  But stop what?  Maybe just growing up."

Patti Smith - Just Kids

// David Lynch //

“I hate slick and pretty things. I prefer mistakes and accidents. Which is why I like things like cuts and bruises - they're like little flowers. I've always said that if you have a name for something, like 'cut' or 'bruise,' people will automatically be disturbed by it. But when you see the same thing in nature, and you don't know what it is, it can be very beautiful.”

David Lynch

// Arundhati Roy //

“Once the quietness arrived, it stayed and spread in Estha. It reached out of his head and enfolded him in its swampy arms. It rocked him to the rhythm of an ancient, fetal heartbeat. It sent its stealthy, suckered tentacles inching along the insides of his skull, hoovering the knolls and dells of his memory; dislodging old sentences, whisking them off the tip of his tongue. It stripped his thoughts of the words that described them and left them pared and naked. Unspeakable. Numb. And to an observer therefore, perhaps barely there. Slowly, over the years, Estha withdrew from the world. He grew accustomed to the uneasy octopus that lived inside him and squirted its inky tranquilizer on his past. Gradually the reason for his silence was hidden away, entombed somewhere deep in the soothing folds of the fact of it.”

Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things 

// Raymond Carver //

 These fish have no eyes
these silver fish that come to me in dreams,
scattering their roe and milt
in the pockets of my brain.

But there's one that comes--
heavy, scarred, silent like the rest,
that simply holds against the current,

closing its dark mouth against
the current, closing and opening
as it holds to the current.

(Raymond Carver (1938-1988), The Current, )

// Sylvia Plath //

“I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people's eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.”

Sylvia Plath The Bell Jar