I think about a world to come where the books were found by the golden ones, written in pain, written in awe by a puzzled man who questioned, "What are we here for?" All the strangers came today and it looks as though they're here to stay.

-David Bowie "Oh! You Pretty Things"

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Flowers to the Wild Weeds

Stones bloomed with red carnations, reptiles swelled in size
the sun descended like a lord dressed in gold robes
holding his earth-wife in his arms dressed with the moon,
and passed out wings for worms, and flowers to the wild weeds.

- Nikos Kazantzakis, Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

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