Sarah (valentinite) wrote,
Sarah
valentinite

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bring forth your flowers and machinery:sculpture and prose

EDIT: Long story short, my internal monologue went sparkletext on me. The way it did when I was a teenager; back then I carried around a little blank book to write Deep Thoughts in. Nowadays, I don't carry it, and blather at LJ. But as it's incoherent and meaningless to anyone not me, instead I leave you with the e.e. cummmings poem that I went hunting for for using in the subject line. It's my favorite literary expression of carpe diem.



voices to voices, lip to lip
i swear (to noone everyone) constitutes
undying; or whatever this and that petal confutes . . .
to exist being a peculiar form of sleep

what's beyond logic happens beneath will;
nor can these moments be translated: i say
that even after April
by God there is no excuse for May

- bring forth your flowers and machinery: sculpture and prose
flowers guess and miss
machinery is the more accurate, yes
it delivers the goods, Heaven knows

(yet are we mindful, though not as yet awake,
of ourselves which shout and cling, being
for a little while and which easily break
in spite of the best overseeing)

i mean that the blond absence of any program
except last and always and first to live
makes unimportant what i and you believe;
not for philosophy does this rose give a damn . . .

bring on your fireworks, which are a mixed
splendor of piston and pistil; very well
provided an instant may be fixed
so that it will not rub, like any other pastel.

(While you and i have lips and voices which
are for kissing and to sing with
who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch
invents an instrument to measure Spring with?

each dream nascitur, is not made . . .)
why then to Hell with that: the other; this,
since the thing perhaps is
to eat flowers and not to be afraid.

-- Edward Estlin Cummings
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