Oh, melancholy, how poor I would be without you drawing my attention to this or that. Yesterday it was the wild plum blossoms along the brief road to today, and today it’s this rain that will rain only once. Each grain of sand on each shingle lights for an instant, like a window across a black lake, and then the tiny shade is drawn, as time strikes the wet panes and glances away. Tomorrow, too, you will be waiting with something to show me. That time, for example, when you dipped a spoon into the plain water of an ordinary day, then lifted it, salty with tears, to my lips.
–Ted Kooser, from “May,” The Wheeling Year: A Poet’s Field Book (University Nebraska Press, 2014)
–Ted Kooser, from “May,” The Wheeling Year: A Poet’s Field Book (University Nebraska Press, 2014)
“Who knows how many others there were who might say that their existence consisted of nothing but the most outrageous nonsense, a nonsense that had nothing unique about it at all and that had nothing behind it or beyond it except more and more nonsense - a new order of nonsense, perhaps an utterly unknown nonsense, but all of it nonsense and nothing but nonsense.”
- Thomas Ligotti, The Clown Puppet
- Thomas Ligotti, The Clown Puppet