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buddy-read with my younger sister

Grub-white mulberries redden among leaves.
I'll go out and sit in white like they do,
Doing nothing. July's juice rounds their nubs.

This park is fleshed with idiot petals.
White catalpa flowers tower, topple,
Cast a round white shadow in their dying.

Death whitens in the egg in and out of it.
I can see no colour for this whiteness.
White: it is a complexion of the mind.

There are moments when the passion for sin so dominates a nature; men and women at such moments lose the freedom of their will. Choice is taken from them, and conscience is either killed, or, if it lives at all, lives but to give rebellion its fascination, and disobedience its charm. For all sins are sins of disobedience. Yes, when that morning-star of evil fell from heaven, it was as a rebel that he fell.

I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.

Behind him the hotdogs split and drizzled
On the public grills, and the ochreous salt flats,
Gas tanks, factory stacks - that landscape
Of imperfections his bowels were part of -
Rippled and pulsed in the glassy updraught.
Sun struck the water like a damnation.
No pit of shadow to crawl into,
And his blood beating the old tattoo
I am, I am, I am.

Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind,

Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.

You need not leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen, simply wait. You need not even wait, just learn to become quiet, and still, and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked; it has no choice; it will roll in raptures, in ecstasy, at your feet.

"Slow was I, Lord, too slow in loving you. To you, earliest and latest beauty, I was slow in love. You were waiting within me while I went outside me. You were calling to me, shouting, drumming on deaf ears. You thundered and lightninged, piercing my blindness. You shed a perfume - inhaling it, I pant for you. For your taste, I hunger and thirst. At your caress, I am feverish for satiation."

"I sighed and you heard. I lurched aside and you steered me. I was still going down the world's broad path and you, my God, were not giving up on me. You, Lord, cured me with the biting ointments of a healing sorrow."

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.

"I wonder by my troth, what thou and I
Did till we loved?

If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee."

"All happy families are alike. An unhappy family is unhappy after its own unique fashion."

"There are too many riddles that weigh man down upon earth. Beauty in Sodom - can that be true? You may be certain that it is precisely there that beauty resides for the vast majority of people. The horror of it is that beauty is not only a terrifying thing - it is also a mysterious one. In it the Devil struggles with God, and the field of battle is in the hearts of men."

"But even a martyr sometimes likes to keep himself amused with his despair, out of sheer despair, as it were..."

"But even a martyr sometimes likes to keep himself amused with his despair, out of sheer despair, as it were..."

"This fear of death is indeed the pretense of wisdom, but not real wisdom - being the appearance of knowing the unknown; since no one knows whether death, which they, in their fear, apprehend to be the greatest evil, may in fact be the greatest good."

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?

“I dedicate the first volume of this work to the future heroes as a common memorial, that the memory of those martyrs may be a permanent source of light for the followers of our Movement.”
The Fortress, Landsberg am Lech, October 16th, 1924

chilling, horrifying, to the very bone.

"The more I have hated human beings in particular, the more ardent has become my love for humanity in general."

"he more I have hated human beings in particular, the more ardent has become my love for humanity in general."

“I dedicate the first volume of this work to the future heroes as a common memorial, that the memory of those martyrs may be a permanent source of light for the followers of our Movement.”
The Fortress, Landsberg am Lech, October 16th, 1924

Chilling.

Father, the older I became, the more material there was for you to bring up against me as evidence of my utter worthlessness; gradually you began really to be right.

"Yet
I trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks, it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you."