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actoúnico

November 23, 2008

13:00

Some days I put the people in their places at the table,
bend their legs at the knees,
if they come with that feature,
and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.

All afternoon they face one another,
the man in the brown suit,
the woman in the blue dress,
perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.

But other days, I am the one
who is lifted up by the ribs,
then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse
to sit with the others at the long table.

Very funny,
but how would you like it
if you never knew from one day to the next
if you were going to spend it

striding around like a vivid god,
your shoulders in the clouds,
or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper,
staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?

- billy collins

November 19, 2008

19:08

November 18, 2008

19:04

these small remnants of life. photos, a letter to be written,
something to be made over.

i spread these things over the table, they’re my corpse.
i contemplate them slowly withering
away.

even words, ever a companion, have turned
to silence. hope whispers

from a tight loop. i faint myself
dead through the days.

i leave them there like tiny breadcrumbs
over a road you cannot go back through.
i save it for regret.

so tonight i toast to my fear, it is
my only company and i treasure it

so.

November 17, 2008

18:59

evelyn mchale - the most beautiful suicide

From Picture of the Week, Life Magazine, May 12, 1947:

“At the bottom of the Empire State Building, the body of Evelyn McHale reposes calmly in grotesque bier her falling body punched into the top of the car

On May Day, just after leaving her fiancé, 23-year-old Evelyn McHale wrote a note. ‘He is much better off without me … I wouldn’t make a good wife for anybody,’ … Then she crossed it out. She went to the observation platform of the Empire State Building. Through the mist she gazed at the street, 86 floors below. Then she jumped. In her desperate determination she leaped clear of the setbacks and hit a United Nations limousine parked at the curb. Across the street photography student Robert Wiles heard an explosive crash. Just four minutes after Evelyn McHale’s death Wiles got this picture of death’s violence and its composure.”

(Life’s cover; Andy Warhol’s version)

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