"Light is knowledge, light is life, light is light."

Thank you, Casey, who led me to this powerful little speech (see below – and watch the clip) from the TV series Northern Exposure, which Jeff said is a great great show. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to see any of it. Maybe later!

Goethe’s final words: “More light.” Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that’s been our unifying cry, “More light.” Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon, incandescent lights that banish the darkness from our caves to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier’s field. Little tiny flashlights for those books we read under the covers when we’re supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead kindly light amid the encircling gloom, lead thou me on, the night is dark and I am far from home, lead thou me on. Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge, light is life, light is light.

Chris (the character) quotes, among others, Psalm 119:105; Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”; John Henry Newman’s “The Pillar of the Cloud” and Isaiah 60:1.

Merry Christmas to friends and family

“Champaign and cinnamon candle”. Photo courtesy of E & S
On Christmas Eve, two friends visited us and we spent a joyous afternoon and evening together, eating, drinking, chatting and playing games. Happy times. The picture above was taken by them.

May all our friends and family have a wonderful Christmas and a happy New Year.

This year, my Christmas song choices are this and this.

Written in Snow

Picture courtesy of JP.

                                         –by t

We extinguished two glasses of port,
drained the lamp,
transfigured from dressed to undressed.

Both times were revelatory.
The way you spoke then did not speak:
everything was newly sparse–
more new than sparse.

I do not remember it all, now,
what we said afterwards:
The virtues of simplified over traditional,

But we kept the blinds two-thirds drawn
and from your warm bed
we caught slivers of tree branches
in soft toques.

The snow had stopped and the road was icy
when we left. What took place already seemed hazy;
even your steadying arm around my shoulder
felt different.

Friendly people, we commented
on irrelevant things: the barber shop over there,
the dog park. Then I saw phrases fingered on cars,
unconvincingly hidden in snow. The calligrapher,
in haste, had chosen simplified.

It doesn’t matter, I guess.
New snow may fall, cover the slate.
And given time, all words melt.

This poem is now published in the March 2011 issue of Subliminal Interiors

From N’gueniene to Dakar

My friend the graphomaniac bookworm sent me some wonderful pictures and below is one of them.

“This one was taken in Senegal, from inside a taxi, on the road from N’gueniene to Dakar. The colourful, hand-painted vehicle you can see outside looks just like most public transport vehicles there. April 2009.”


My friend took this picture. Be quiet — music is banned.

Kowloon Tong, 9:10am

At this point, the receptionist is late for work already.