#canong10

[lforlimbo]

Here I am and there is my body dancing on glass In accident time where there are no accidents You have no choice the choice comes after

[japauxhrsleeeplessnigts]

[dimanche-noir]

Water Wings by Dimanche Noir

[threeriversforge]

Sad news, folks.  My trusty Canon G10 has died.  Here we have her last picture.  :( Try as I might, I couldn’t get her to accept commands, so she wouldn’t focus properly or switch between functions.  While I like the picture, and often try to get the crisp background like this, I would have preferred it to be on my terms.

Don’t cry for her.  She had a good life and saw many amazing things.  Her passing is just a part of the cycle, and the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.  Some might see this as a bad thing, but I like to remember that I’m around to take pictures and I’m taking pictures of things I create.  Take solace in knowing she was a boon companion for more than a decade.

With the post-holiday slump in sales, it might be awhile before I’m posting anything of the goings-on here at Three Rivers Forge, but I’ll continue to post images of wonderful hand-forged ironwork of days long gone.  As soon as I’m able, rest assured that I’ll be back with more original images of things crafted on my anvil.

Thank you for joining me on this journey.  Your company is much appreciated!

[johaneichhorn]

lapland/the very north of finland

https://www.johaneichhorn.net/

[lforlimbo]

All night I hear the noise of water sobbing. All night I make night in me, I make the day that begins on my account, that sobs because day falls like water through night. All night I hear the voice of someone seeking me out. All night you abandon me slowly like the water that sobs slowly falling. All night I write luminous messages, messages of rain, all night someone checks for me and I check for someone. The noise of steps in the circle near this choleric light birthed from my insomnia. Steps of someone who no longer writhes, who no longer writes. All night someone holds back, then crosses the circle of bitter light. All night I drown in your eyes become my eyes. All night I prod myself on toward that squatter in the circle of my silence. All night I see something lurch toward my looking, something humid, contrived of silence launching the sound of someone sobbing. Absence blows grayly and night goes dense. Night, the shade of the eyelids of the dead, viscous night, exhaling some black oil that blows me forward and prompts me to search out an empty space without warmth, without cold. All night I flee from someone. I lead the chase, I lead the fugue. I sing a song of mourning. Black birds over black shrouds. My brain cries. Demented wind. I leave the tense and strained hand, I don’t want to know anything but this perpetual wailing, this clatter in the night, this delay, this infamy, this pursuit, this inexistence. All night I see that abandonment is me, that the sole sobbing voice is me. We can search with lanterns, cross the shadow’s lie. We can feel the heart thud in the thigh and water subside in the archaic site of the heart. All night I ask you why. All night you tell me no.

https://www.instagram.com/l.for.limbo/

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[lforlimbo]

THE WIND WAS BLOWING FROM THE LEFT

Οne day, at the end of the future, Ι will wake up in a certain smell. I will stretch out my left hand and touch your left rib, there will be a sound that includes some Greek letters and I will get up to pee. And when I come back, my face will have a certain expression. Only one. The opposite of fear. And Ι 'll sit and write a poem while smoking making sure the lighter doesn't make any noise because your sleep has always been and will always be so sacred to me. And when I have written the poem I will again think -oh this is the greatest stupidity in the Balkans, and I will come back to be, half-quiet , half-disappointed. I will reach out my left hand and touch your elbow I will stretch my right leg and touch a cloth. Your trousers on our bed. (You left your trousers on our bed ) and my little toe will tangle in your belt. and in the morning when we wake up I'll make a pouty face and point my little toe at you and say " ooooh you forgot your trousers in our bed, look how badly I hurt" and we'll laugh at my excess and all the greenery of our love will be a pair of jeans in our bed, and an infinitesimal mark on my little toe, and that's how life will begin every day. with whatever we forgot in bed the night before. This, and this alone will define the quiet greenery of our love. ( and when I wrote this I went to bed fully disappointed because I knew I had written the greatest stupidity in the Balkans)

[lforlimbo]

A grief ago, She who was who I hold, the fats and the flower, Or, water-lammed, from the scythe-sided thorn, Hell wind and sea, A stem cementing, wrestled up the tower, Rose maid and male, Or, master venus, through the paddler’s bowl Sailed up the sun; Dylan Thomas