and then our exile

kay la yakuna dulatam bayna'l-aghniya'i minkum

some years ago i came across a picture on the internet. it was after the barbarians invaded baghdad, i think, but can't be sure – it was an older man with a longish beard carrying his dead daughter's body away from his pulverized home. the daughter was young, was wearing a purple scarf, and her foot was in ribbons. i thought i'd saved the picture, but now can't find it. if anyone has seen this, please send it to me? there is need for it.

reexamining verse, after a 1am revisitation last night. it is maybe not the most responsible thing to do before the inundation of a gazillion papers to write, having floated so far only by the grace of the Lord, but - the recurring hedonist will get to us all. (excuse, or.)

wrote something in the early hours, i thought it was a trivial topic, a simple and perhaps tongue in cheek question-and-answer.
the next morning, an entirely other subtext, frightening, a dash of cold water. the eyes with which to see, a darker world, a throwback.

the past day and a half have been hung with shadows. people-shadows, of the many and the few. hanging upon my heart.

awoke at 4.30am with cohen's "alexandra leaving" somehow playing in my dreams. the radio back to espace musique, off, and then again to sleep.