
There isn’t much to say about some poems. They speak for themselves and echo into the world.
Photo From BrainPickings Dylan Thomas—One of the best. Here’s a recording of Dylan reading his own poem. Posted on YouTube.

There isn’t much to say about some poems. They speak for themselves and echo into the world.
Photo From BrainPickings Dylan Thomas—One of the best. Here’s a recording of Dylan reading his own poem. Posted on YouTube.
LOVE AFTER LOVE
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Derek Walcott—January 23, 1930—March 17, 2017
My MacBook has been returned to me all safe and sound. Now I have only to get caught up. Hummm. That could take awhile. Especially since I’ve added piano work and exercise to my dailies. This is what drives people to naps.

Philip Kindred Dick died in Santa Ana, California, on March 2, in 1982 (aged 53). Vintage Books & Anchor Books.

“How undisturbed, the sleep of the foolish.” —RADIO FREE ALBEMUTH by Philip K. Dick
In Radio Free Albemuth, his last novel, Philip K. Dick morphed and recombined themes that had informed his fiction from A Scanner Darkly to VALIS and produced a wild, impassioned work that reads like a visionary alternate history of the United States. Agonizingly suspenseful, darkly hilarious, and filled with enough conspiracy theories to thrill the most hardened paranoid, Radio Free Albemuth is proof of Dick’s stature as our century’s greatest science fiction writer.
But and then. We always have to ask, especially with Sci-Fi, which is fiction, and which is the inside trip, the following of the yellow-brick road inside the gray matter. Valis.
∞ About that infinity sign.
A few years back, an overheard conversation by the copier: “So how do I get it to keep printing?” “No problem, just hit that upside down 8.” “It’s not upside down. It’s on its side.”