Andy Tithesis

“In Vienna there are shadows. The city is black and everything is done by rote. I want to be alone. I want to go to the Bohemian Forest. May, June, July, August, September, October. I must see new things and investigate them. I want to taste dark water and see crackling trees and wild winds. I want to gaze with astonishment at moldy garden fences, I want to experience them all, to hear young birch plantations and trembling leaves, to see light and sun, enjoy wet, green-blue valleys in the evening, sense goldfish glinting, see white clouds building up in the sky, to speak to flowers. I want to look intently at grasses and pink people, old venerable churches, to know what little cathedrals say, to run without stopping along curving meadowy slopes across vast plains, kiss the earth and smell soft warm marshland flowers. And then I shall shape things so beautifully: fields of colour…”
― Egon Schiele

“Become desert, the great silty gobs
Rise up in whirlwinds and subsist under miasma
Of sediments aloft: dust-storms inherit
The powerful cells of the old gorals:
The vacated seabed's stark unfinished frame
Roils with lightnings and thunders down to the trenches

Which despite centuries keep filling in
With an oily ooze pressed from corpse Sargassos
In a chain of trapdoor--bottom Dead Seas
By mile-deep muds laid down as secret essence
Of all the ingenuities fielded above.
In them the newest become most ancient mires.

Profound air clubs like a meteor-hammer
The misfits weaned more in shallows, but the bones,
The kraken carapaces, litter both
Guys-slope and plain, can yon and domdaniel
Rearing like cere brat ranges from the chat
Of midge-mollusks uncountable, minor life..”
― William Scott Home, Stain of Moonlight

“A quarter-moon smeared a feverish glow on the marble slabs and dappled the trodden weeds that beleaguered them with a pale dewy leprosy; only the massy shadows which clustered around the trunks of the ancient oaks and beeches escaped its infection.”
― William Scott Home, Hollow Faces, Merciless Moons

“Your eyes aren't empty mirrors - You reflect human beings. I hope this doesn't make you mortally unhappy.”
― Yōko Tawada, Memoirs of a Polar Bear