Odalisque

I have taken up residence in an obsidian tower. It has no chinks for the intrepid to grip. It is an obelisk. I am the odalisque who lives in the obelisk. I converse with birds.
www.conversewithbirds.org.

Apr 1
spring. <top hat>

spring. <top hat>


Mar 20

an edge

vernal equinox, 2014

-tipped o’er.

hello new minute of light.

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Mar 10

spring is coming!

Are you bringing me flowers?  I like flowers.  Particularly the ones that open themselves so fully they fall apart.  Hearts do this, and the ego, yearning for transcendence.   So, too, the prismatic doors of glass, with no hinges and no handle.  You (yes you) must crash through.  Oh the light, smashing everywhere and glass shattering like a fist smashed into still water drops like glass throwing light.

My favorite flower, the petals dropleted with moisture, shatters on the sill.

Wait, just a little bit.  I will make you a bouquet.

post on wordpress



Feb 14
fig. 1158 (flaming valentine)

I have nothing to say but I do have a valentine.

if what we could–were what we would– criterion–be small– it is the ultimate of talk– the impotence to tell–
(emily dickinson)


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fig. 1158 (flaming valentine)

I have nothing to say but I do have a valentine.

if what we could–were what we would–
criterion–be small–
it is the ultimate of talk–
the impotence to tell–

(emily dickinson)

View Post


Feb 7

Dear Henriette,

Congratulations on your new position!  Will you get a day off?

The birds say they know a very fancy song called Peter and the Birds.  The birds, assisted by Peter, trap a wolf.  The wolf winds up in a zoo.

But don’t worry.  I’m no Peter.  And in their song, the wolf manages to eat one bird…duck, I think?

Black swan (who most resembles a duck) says he doesn’t remember anything about that.

I asked the birds if odalisques die.  Phoenix got very excited and tried to turn my scrapbook into a pyre.  The rest of us aren’t sure.  Owl points out that we’re art.  Black swan believes we are therefore immortal.  Hawk suspects we can die, but we’ll be created at another time in a new, more relevant form.  Hawk sees no reason why that form couldn’t be a wolf, so that should please you.  Crow (did I tell you crow turned into a parrot?) says “all all perishes.” All, I suppose, includes odalisques, and even the impulse towards art.

I can’t find the starlings, not that it matters as they don’t seem to think actual thoughts.  They are feeding on and fertilizing some forsaken marsh.

Mary!  How’d you wind up with her coat?  Sacre Couer!  An odalisque, in Mary’s coat?!  What’s she wearing?  Have you seen her?

Will we see you soon?

your friend,

The Odalisque

(my letter from Henriette)



Dear Odalisque,
Thank you for your invitation to visit.  I have never been in an obelisk, and ah! the aeons since I last saw an ocean, don’t remind me of them, unless I may count the flat deserts that were sea floors.  I stood at the bottom of those oceans and drowned myself in a fire-dry sky.  Then, I was much happier.  When night came, the stars were very friendly, a school of bio-luminescent fish curious about me in my glass bowl.
I have been very busy since October, when the Christmas season began in Venezuela.  I have taken a position in the new Ministry of Supreme Happiness.  I’ve enclosed a snapshot of this position: does it o’erwhelm you with exalted felicity?  So it intends.  The shovel intends to remind you that Chavez now hangs out with the people underground.   Not in the grave, but in tunnels.  Perhaps you’d like to dig yourself one, to reconnoiter with le President?  Reports vary as to whether he is still a bird.
When I die (do odaliques ever get to die?)  I will return, not as a bird, but as a wolf.
Don’t tell your friends.  
Did you ever think you’d see an odalisque draped in blue, blue of Mary’s color?
Hello to the birds, says wolf, salivating.
love &amp; toilet paper,
Henriette


My letter from Henriette
(Read the last one here.)

Dear Odalisque,

Thank you for your invitation to visit.  I have never been in an obelisk, and ah! the aeons since I last saw an ocean, don’t remind me of them, unless I may count the flat deserts that were sea floors.  I stood at the bottom of those oceans and drowned myself in a fire-dry sky.  Then, I was much happier.  When night came, the stars were very friendly, a school of bio-luminescent fish curious about me in my glass bowl.

I have been very busy since October, when the Christmas season began in Venezuela.  I have taken a position in the new Ministry of Supreme Happiness.  I’ve enclosed a snapshot of this position: does it o’erwhelm you with exalted felicity?  So it intends.  The shovel intends to remind you that Chavez now hangs out with the people underground.   Not in the grave, but in tunnels.  Perhaps you’d like to dig yourself one, to reconnoiter with le President?  Reports vary as to whether he is still a bird.

When I die (do odaliques ever get to die?)  I will return, not as a bird, but as a wolf.

Don’t tell your friends. 

Did you ever think you’d see an odalisque draped in blue, blue of Mary’s color?

Hello to the birds, says wolf, salivating.

love & toilet paper,

Henriette

My letter from Henriette

(Read the last one here.)


Jan 31

Happy New Year!  Here on the seashore, we operate on obelisk time, and two years ago today I moved into my towering home.  Happy New Year!
Last year we celebrated with fire.  This year I’m just chilling in my teapot.  It is very cold in the obelisk.

Happy New Year!  Here on the seashore, we operate on obelisk time, and two years ago today I moved into my towering home.  Happy New Year!

Last year we celebrated with fire.  This year I’m just chilling in my teapot.  It is very cold in the obelisk.


Jan 23

let me sleep

Quiet, please, quiet.

Let me sleep.

Let me pull this sudden darkness (this darkness that is natural in many places of this world) over my face like a black hood wrung in cool water.

Let me be blind inside it.

Let me sleep as deeply as sleepers in the dark regions.

Let me sleep, fists curled like a skinned animal who dreams of the moldy earth, of thick plush fur.  A dream that closes on waking

like a heavy door heaved against a beast who wants to tear my bones away from themselves with its jeweled claws.

(Odalisque dreaming recorded here)


Jan 14

true love has not, as far as i know, been compared by the poets to a bulldog.  but it has the same sort of grip.—rebecca west.

cosmic dream radio on wordpress


Jan 7

the ice has melted, unchaining the cold.

do you think I don’t care?  The dictionary inelegantly defines vortex as “a mass of spinning air, liquid, etc., that pulls things into its center”.   it is good to be centered, but not when that center is supposed to be your north pole.

in the summer, the poles will miss this cold, and the ice will melt more than it ought too, exposing corpses, campsites, fossils of people who lived there thousands of years ago.  they will decompose before we learn anything from them.  they lived in the climate we soon inherit.   who died and left it to us?  a miniscule planet’s ecosystem, exhausted by our habitation.

so much sadness.  salt waters rise.

do you think i want this?  i wanted to throw open the window and throw a  dazzling balcony smile at a sparkling sea.  but i got hit in the teeth with cold like the sea threw up a handful of ice (or was it you, did you do this to me?).  I am sitting on the middle of the earth under a lopsided arctic wind and I don’t have the right clothes.

crow/parrot and phoenix are conducting experiments.  crow is flash-freezing eggs on a branch outside, then phoenix slowly heats them on the stone sill.  owl tells me this is the latest in culinary technology.  that’s interesting but will it be ready for teatime?

maybe I’ll burn myself some fossil fuels.  put the teapot on the fire and crawl inside.

i’m so cold i think i can feel the heat reflected off the moon.

yes, i did.  because now i’m colder.

the moon just set.

http://conversewithbirds.org/2014/01/07/warm/


Dec 21
winter solstice scrapbook page.
read about the odalisque&#8217;s longest night&#8230;

winter solstice scrapbook page.

read about the odalisque’s longest night…


are you awake?

are you awake, too?  hush holy in the old days, before people like you and I understood the earth’s axial tilt, how it—not the sun—moves.  There was a time when night-wakers-we would labor with rites and song to call back the cold sun.  come back, chariot of cosmic fire!  run your course directly o’er, you barely crest the distant edge of our apparently flat fields.

people like you and I, night-wakers-we, would worry about star-lit days and moon-less night.  the trees are already dead and if the sun said “no, i won’t come back” and didn’t, they would have stayed that way, bare of leaf, electrical snappage in a voltless day-called-night.  we would have been eaten by the night-hunters, like owl.

crow-who-is-parrot cracks one eye as if crow were wholly crow, and croaks “some day some day”.  it is true.  one day the sun will burn out.  go back to sleep, parrot-who-is-crow.

I am glad to KNOW that this is the longest night this solar year.    Tomorrow night will be a little bit gentler than this one here.

read entire post on wordpress….


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