The sky
is that beautiful old parchment
in which the sun
and the moon
keep their diary.
To read it all,
one must be a linguist
more learned than Father Wisdom;
and a visionary
more clairvoyant than Mother Dream.
But to feel it,
one must be an apostle:
one who is more than intimate
in having been, always,
the only confidant—
like the earth
or the sea.
—Alfred Kreymborg
https://t.co/Od6ovdcTWB
They came from Iceland and Radiohead liked them. That’s about all we knew about Sigur Rós back when Ágætis Byrjun first starting making the rounds. See where the band's second album falls on our list of the 200 best albums of the 2000s: https://t.co/AzIGb4Cw10
5/16/26 “If we could delve into the granular caves
of the asphalt his wheels wheeze on
we might see in the crepuscular cracks
a twisty little thing we call sorrow”
The darkness doesn’t descend, and then it descends so quickly
it seems to seize you in burly arms. I’ve been waiting all night
to have this dance. Stay, it says. Haven’t touched your drink.
—D. A. Powell, born #OTD in 1963
https://t.co/pGWHDqbUEV