some cast hands for my “Sirens” project

~   John Updike (via theunquotables)

Passing window after window bleeding tungsten

When the night is thick I drive

deeper in the tree lines trailing an

orange like parking lots


We chase our own light and exhale

tirelessly in our wake

asphalt still picking my knees from its


I keep walking trying to find new memories before

this place forgets them

I picked its mind and found under mud, inside trees bowing lower to

Houses calling closer

Watching the sunset on the field until the trucks came in

What they left unburied gets unearthed

Poured full with concrete

Stepping on urchins in my dreams

Picking shards from the soles

of my feet

In memory the fall sky forms

Deeper than anything I’ve seen lately

Weaving different smoke into my clothes

And a waning moon whose face

I hope to still recognize in a crowd

The slip into anaphora

when I say ‘house’ instead of ‘homeland’


The Voice and the Peak


(a dream from 12/21/13)

A mountain’s ridge and peak close,

the winds endless throw snow into the air like

the smoke from a candle blown out

you store trees up there, tied up. 

The ocean, i see it between treetops, suddenly, it almost

seems like a wave stopping just short of flooding your home.

it stands deep and tall remembering Egypt

you defy distance and dive in-

In colors together, you say something of me.

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Josh Tonsfeldt
12.13.13 /13:31/ 413

As the mountains should be, blue, settled by treetops.

Standing distance and you’ll never

know me, unfolding into patterns of life so neatly hidden and

large. I see you every year, in passing.

I stare into your eyes, during morning-in nights, never close.

If I call your name, the fog will not stir, the sky

descending into your profiles after sunrise

will not alter its course to any other heartbeat.

How many cold mornings, lace curtained moments do you remember, I-

have slept beside you, spoken often as a way of breathing inside you,

as echoes of lost and a prodigal wind moving close to the ground

between the trees. i waited in parking lots as if repeated far-offs never shivered or turned their head. 


 You are my distances  

                                and nearness, my remind-me-of and never-yets

The unbroken frost blooming in my throat 

~   Franz Kafka  (via kafkaesque-world)
~   Pablo Neruda
~   Cornelia Parker 

The difficulties of translation and having sufficient means of expression and which words are culturally necessary;


Czech – Milan Kundera, author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, remarked that “As for the meaning of this word, I have looked in vain in other languages for an equivalent, though I find it difficult to imagine how anyone can understand the human soul without it.” The closest definition is a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.


German – Translated literally, this word means “gate-closing panic,” but its contextual meaning refers to “the fear of diminishing opportunities as one ages.”


Japanese – Much has been written on this Japanese concept, but in a sentence, one might be able to understand it as “a way of living that focuses on finding beauty within the imperfections of life and accepting peacefully the natural cycle of growth and decay.”

L’appel du vide

French – “The call of the void” is this French expression’s literal translation, but more significantly it’s used to describe the instinctive urge to jump from high places.


Arabic – Both morbid and beautiful at once, this incantatory word means “You bury me,” a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person because of how difficult it would be to live without them.


 Norwegian- The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love


Greek- Doing something with soul, creativity, or love. It’s when you put something of yourself into what you’re doing

Tatemae and Honne 

Japanese- What you pretend to believe and what you actually believe, respectively


German- The feeling of being alone in the woods

Portuguese - Many believe that one of the most beautiful words in Portuguese issaudade, which refers to something loved and lost. There is no exact word for the term in English, although some would liken it to a yearning or a longing for something that is no longer attainable—more intense than nostalgia. Others have called it the love that remains after someone (or something) is gone. 

Canvas  by  andbamnan