In the waiting room

“Nobody is one block of harmony. We are all afraid of something, or feel limited in something. We all need somebody to talk to. It would be good if we talked to each other, not just pitter patter but real talk. We shouldn’t be afraid, because most people really like this contact; that you show you are vulnerable makes them free to be vulnerable too. It’s so much easier to be together when we drop our masks.”

(Liv Ullmann, Changing)

Light will win

…”so do prove that you are with us… and then life will win over death and light will win over darkness”…

(Volodymyr Zelenskiy)

-my heart is blue and yellow-

Places with shadows

“You have to pick the places you don’t walk away from.”

(Joan Didion)

On wine, on poetry or on virtue

“You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . . ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”

(Charles Baudelaire, Be Drunk)

Pick out your cloud

“Where the river cross
Crosses the lake
Where the words
Jump off my pen
And into your pages
Do you think
Just like that
You can divide
This you as yours
Me as mine to
Before we were us
If the rain has to separate
From itself
Does it say pick out your cloud?”

(Tori Amos, Your cloud)

This day imprint itself on our memory

“We’ve come to the end of the day: let us say that in the course of that day something important has happened, something significant, the sort of thing that could be the inspiration for a film, that has the makings of a conflict of ideas that could become a picture. But how did this day imprint itself on our memory? As something amorphous, vague, with no skeleton or schema. Like a cloud. And only the central event of that day has become concentrated, like a detailed report, lucid in meaning and clearly defined. Against the background of the rest of the day, that event stands out like a tree in the mist […] Isolated impressions of the day have set off impulses within us, evoked associations; objects and circumstances have stayed in our memory, but with no sharply defined contours, incomplete, apparently fortuitous.”

(Tarkovsky, Sculpting in Time)

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on
Your troubles will be out of sight…”

(Ralph Blane / Hugh Martin, Have yourself a merry little Christmas)

– I wish you all a lovely Happy Holiday Season!

…and thank you so much for being here…



There we stop; there we stand

…“for women live much more in the past…they attach themselves to places (…) Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame”

(Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway)

I watched you die (Re -post)

I watched you die little bird;
how you squirmed,
the crazy cat
plucking you gracefully
from your aborted flight,
crimson spurting generously,
eyes rolling,
slipping into limpness,
fluid discharging from every orifice;
your young opponent,
licking chops and feather wet
bloody whiskers white.

(Jack Brewis, Little bird)

– After so many posts, it is time to remember many others from the past, that still made sense. This one is very dear to me, it has a beautiful poem from my friend Jack. Yes, “we are all little birds, hoping to be saved”. To see more of his writings and images, go to

Awakening (a self portrait)

“When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?…”

(Amanda Gorman, The Hill We Climb)