Where the Sidewalk Ends

by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,

 And there the grass grows soft and white, 

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

Pictures by marija strajnic

Sans Soleil (1983)

I will have spent my life trying to understand the function of remembering,

 which is not the opposite of forgetting,

 but rather its lining.

We do not remember.

We rewrite memory much as history is rewritten.

How can one remember thirst?

 Photos by Anders Linden

Words from Sans Soleil

Philip Johnson – Architect

“Early unsuccesses shouldn’t bother anybody because it happens to absolutely everybody” – Philip Johnson

Poe X Gorey

Song

by Edgar Allen Poe and Illustrations by Edward Gorey

I SAW thee on thy bridal day -
When a burning blush came o’er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
The world all love before thee:

5 Things for Summer

1. A quote:   “A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawnmower is broken”- James Dent

2. A Photo

3. A Hockney

 

 

4. A Fact:  Cacti are real water reservoirs; their inner liquid is not pure, clear water but a thick viscous stuff, but perfectly drinkable, that saved many lives in the desert. It can be obtained easily by scratching an Opuntia or by making a hole into columnar cacti

5. A Treat:

 

Walden

 The sea-shore is a sort of neutral ground, a most advantageous point from which to contemplate this world.

It is even a trivial place.

The waves forever rolling to the land are too far-travelled and untamable to be familiar.

Creeping along the endless beach amid the sun-squall and the foam, it occurs to us that we, too, are the product of sea-slime.

http://www.rjshaughnessy.com/

* these photos are from R.J. Shaughnessy. I really would like to talk to him about his work.