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cosmic dream radio (black black bulldog)

owl radio staticShhhh.  She’s dreaming.  Listen:

That is what she dreams.  Shhhh.

owl_signature

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

listen to all odalisque dreams here.

are you awake?

i am writing you it is the longest night of the year.  there are astronomical charts and time tables which tell me this is so.
no matter when you read this let it be known: I wrote this on the longest night of my second obelisk year.

I am vigilant.  the birds are asleep.  crow/parrot is nesting on the teapot. black swan’s head is tucked into a wing with a hammer.  hawk’s claw clasps a chisel.  starlings sleep in my tree, which is perfect because they will rustle and chirp at exactly the necessary moment.

I have an obelisk-improvement plan which begins with our marking tomorrow’s first ray of light.  I’ll show you what we do, but you’ll have to wait until next year.

now, now now, cold and colder (metaphysically).  the obelisk receives information on its obtuse cosmic angle as it (as we) tilt far back on our polar heel, away from the atomic crematorium called sun.  I am wearing my coat and holding phoenix, who burns my candle at both ends.

i don’t like these long nights.

tomorrow night will be one minute shorter than this night!  every minute counts when you’re all alone in an obelisk and your friends are birds who go to sleep with the sun.

correction: owl doesn’t sleep with the sun, but where is owl?  out torturing the rodents who plant seeds in my bed when I’m not looking.  all kinds of seeds stashed in my bed!  will they sprout to my warmth when i sleep sound?

i sleep in sound.  mice eat the seeds.  owl eats the mice.  owl eats the trees, twice-removed.  the marsh flowers and the burnet grasses.

i like my solitude, but these dark days weigh heavy on me.

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.

my winter solstice, 2013 scrapbook page.   happy hol [ly] days.

figure_solstice_orion_ahome

fig 3

jacket? tie?

I showed off my party dress.  So the birds are ready to dance.  They’ve brought out their best.

If I could only dance with one, which would I choose?

fashionable black swan (2)

I like that black swan brings me fetid flowers.  The book could be a gift or maybe black swan intends to read to me later.  I hope not.  There’s nothing worse than long phrases comparing odalisques to astronomical bodies, natural phenomena, or flowers.  How can you enjoy yourself when everything you do reminds someone of the moon?  I’ve been to the moon, and it’s nothing to throw garlands at.  Stop talking about the moon.  I am The Odalisque!  transparent bar

drastic / fire-fair/ one two three one two three/ we / combustible

Fetid flowers or… a dead branch?

The branch is for me to hold when we dance, so I don’t catch on fire.  That might be a trick, though, because Phoenix really wants me to burn.  At least if I dance with Phoenix, there is a window nearby.  I will need to stick my head out into that high, clear air, after a whirl in Phoenix’s flagrant embrace.transparent bar  fashionable crow-as-parrot

Crow-as-parrot offers to lead me through greener pastures.  Crow has a message but I’ve already opened it.  Or did Crow open it first and scramble the intended meaning?  Crow wears the fool’s hat.  Crow, where are we going?

transparent bar fashionable starlings (2)The starlings clothe themselves in the soft robes of nightfall.  It is the hour of murmuration.  Behind them, obscure.  If I allow myself to be taken in their arms I will be the space between earth and sky consecrated by their hushed, joyful swarm.  I will be the ever-evolving absence of thousands of birds.

transparent barfashionable hawk (2)

Hawk, discretely, but superbly dressed, waits beneath an ordinary chandelier. The silk dress is for changing into when Hawk tires of leading.

Hawk carries a scarlet fan for me: when I want everyone to go away I will hide my face like ostrich sticking its head in the sand.  Everyone knows: leave me alone.

Hawk is thoughtful in that way.

I will dance with Hawk.

Black Swan, aghast, is sputtering phrases from the book.  The phrases aren’t about me or the moon!   They’re all about Black Swan!  Typical.  Black Swan, do you remember how to call out, over the marsh, the wild, mute cry of your forebearers?  If so, I will dance with you.

Fashionable birds.  See how they first made their fashion fetish known here, or click the Fashion tag for that and more.

–The Odalisque

my party dress

I have so much to say it’s hard to say anything at all.  So many loose threads:

Plus my visits to outer-space…  I am having a hard time organizing all these threads.

So, to sea with the threads.  Let’s talk about something that isn’t a thread but IS very popular:

handwriting fashion

*!*Fashion!*!

Fashion is a pleasant distraction from most critical issues.  (To browse all my FASHIONable posts click the FASHION tag).   In my first message about FASHION  I listed all the clothes I own.  I’ve shown you my SWIMSUIT, but not my PARTY DRESS.

Here I am in my party dress:

fashionable odalisque in coat, plumed cap, and seashells,  with red coral and notebook paper

I made it myself.

If you miss me while I’m cocooning in loose threads, you can watch MY MOVIE

HOW I GOT INTO THE OBESLISK,

which debuted last year right about NOW.

Now now now now…

Maybe I should make another movie out of thread.

No.  That won’t help at all.

–The Odalisque

partydress (interior)

I made it while I waited
at the sea shore for
?

a tree is cut down and paper made. I then write on it.

handwriting if a tree is cut down

If a tree is cut down and paper or pencil made, and I then write with them?

If you were a tree

would you be my pencil?

my blank page?

my unblank page?

If you were a tree would you be the page preserved in an archive, its climate controlled with combustion, the burning of ferny compression we call fossil fuels?

Would you be my paper, my pencil, preserved?

handwriting a tree would prefer

A tree would prefer I crumple this page, throw pencil away.

Better yet, would I please bury both in dirt?

handwriting if you were a tree you would want

When I fall something shoot its pale cusp from the trunk that was me.

transparent barit begins

Come back wild moment from far before
I took up my sword call it pencil say paper or page.
Killing impulse, I took up pencil and page.
I ruined everything.

teapot postcard 2

my teapot delivers postcards directly to my desk.

my teapot delivers postcards directly to my desk.

 

Postcard back--Phoenix

Where is my coat?

I wish I would get a real postcard from Henriette.

 

FED

fig 1.folio:816.

fabricated odalisque

fabricated odalisque

[I make figures to illustrate complex concepts.   See all here.]

obelisk clock

As you know, I celebrate astronomical facts.

Today my side of the earth leans close to the sun.

Tomorrow, it begins to tilt away.

Here is a celebratory  [j]gif[t] for you.

obelisk clock

[If you don’t see this image animated, click to open it!]

(read last year’s summer solstice post: astronomical truths)

 

why does the phoenix (billet 4)

a candle in my ear burned down to ash.  wake up.  eyelashes caked with ash.   head thick with smoke. obscure.

o reader

o out-there

here:

fig. 6:  astrolabe/the stairs

figure 6: the stairs

(the phoenix leaves flaming notes on my pillow.  Click to read the last billet doux…)

there are no words left.

it doesn’t matter what you say.

it matters what you do.

what will you do?

birds in hats

As I mentioned in my last post, the birds think I should hang out on the sea shore this summer.   To distract them from this discomforting vein of conversation, I indulge their penchant for FASHION.

The birds like trying on hats.

Black Swan likes hats more than anybody.  Black Swan would like me to do a whole series of portraits entitled “CROWNING THE INEFFABLE:  Hats O EPHEMERAL GARNISHING Across the Centuries as CLASSICALLY DISPLAYED Upon the TIMELESS HEAD of the Rare BLACK SWAN.”

I refused and made him share a portrait with Hawk:

hats for black swan & hawk

Hawk was deeply moved by the metaphysics of the plumed, dove-white hat, bound as it is by a ribbon of blue sky.  I don’t really understand Hawk’s line of thinking; it has something to do with avian creation myths.

Starlings swarm beneath a veil as if it were mist over the autumn brocade of the marsh grasses:

hat for starlings

Crow-as-parrot with a parrot in a hat so naïve, I think it is surreal:

hat for crow as parrot

The phoenix thinks this hat is bad-ass, especially with a ruched tunic:

hat for phoenix

I put on a hat, too.  The birds suddenly silenced themselves; their heads cocked to eye my every move with beady-black intensity.

They thought I might be going outside:

Odalisque in a hat for the shore

WHERE ARE YOU GOING!! squawked Parrot-that-was-crow.

I could go outside.  If I knew where to go.

–The Odalisque

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