Photo accountThe photos are at ~corsacphoto.
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Unfinished BusinessMushrooms; short, wrinkled caps; splatter-painted shades of brown and orange. Moss and ferns, a misty green; decaying log of a storm-struck tree. Damp black earth, carved and pared by rabbit trails. Specks of dappled sunlight escaping through the thirsty leaves.Unfinished Business
A quiet place now. But I knew it before the forest reclaimed it; before people withdrew from these lands. The memory rushes through my head like traffic. All is dust now; the concrete crumbled, the city gone. Even the land no longer remembers it.
A shrew moves through the undergrowth; it does not notice my passage. I make no imprint upon the ground. There is
by ~corsac
Wolves May Eat Your WifeAngel was his name, and I used to work with him; he was dumb as a bag of bricks, and I couldn't trust him with any tasks which required thought. But he was beautiful, the girls at the warehouse tended to flock around him, and since we worked as partners they flocked around me, too. A few of them who might otherwise never have thought twice about me became my girlfriends that way; so I could tolerate him.Wolves May Eat Your Wife
Try as they might, none of the girls could ever even get to first base with Angel, because he had a secret. He shared it only with me, until the tragedy happened and everybody knew about it. He was already married, but not legall
by ~corsac
In Still Waters WaitingWrapped within the midnight she emerged from the forest, and the shadows under the trees shrank back as if in fear; we all could see her from far away quite clearly in the moonlight, stalking slowly toward us with bared feet. We waited in silence, shifting our weight nervously from leg to leg, fingers playing upon the good luck charms and curios we had each secreted in our pockets.In Still Waters Waiting
When she was still no larger than the Martello tower on the hill as seen from the valley below, I could make out individual hairs upon her head and twigs stuck in her hair, tiny scratches upon her cheek, small tears in the fabric of her light frock. I
by ~corsac
When the Apricots BloomThe sun was ascending to the apex of its flight as I walked down the dusty lane. I stayed as much as possible within the truncated shadows of the tombs. I could hear the low growl of automobiles and the high squeal of children from a distance. Amongst the graves and monuments, I could see no other person.When the Apricots Bloom
And yet, the necropolis was not entirely devoid of life. Here a lizard scurried headfirst down the shady face of a monolithic slab; there my ears caught the pattering tread of a mouse in its underground passage. And over there, a tattered doll and a perplexing construction of sticks and stones told the tale of an unfinished chil
by ~corsac
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- Current Residence: Lower Flat
- Favourite movie: Blade Runner
- Favourite band or musician: Mary Timony (with and without Helium)
- Favourite artist: Van Gogh, Escher, Dali
- Favourite poet or writer: John Barth, Samuel Delany, Gene Wolfe. Poet: Rabindranath Tagore
- Website: http://www.livejournal.com/users/corsac/
- AIM: VulpesCorsac
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“Drink deep the cup of life;
Take its dark wine into your soul,
For it passes round the table only once.”
- Marcia Tolbert -
Please visit my portfolio [link] and my gallery [link]
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My Clubs: ~nintendo-fc
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Le Liban fort, c’est un Liban fort de sa démocratie, de sa liberté, de toutes ses institutions… Un Liban qui pourra assurer à chaque citoyen vivant sur son sol, sécurité, liberté et égalité.
B. Gemayel (24 Juillet 1982)
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Unexpected changes from head to toe.
What do you think?
(please note that I am away this week - so it might be a little while before I get back to you)
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A storm is rising.
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Matt Perko
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