The picture here is of either. One foot in either. Wet like hair.
interpretation: the name is domma or possible manna or cro from the Irish is taken to mean foolish but has not yet been seen otherwise, to compare with the generous bequest of john windle who purchased the stone for a pound to begin with: oak: dog: hound: ailbe: declan: the marks in line: foolish also to touch either the stone or the steel bracket around it or likewise to represent it in either case, which history has soiled over time, as the sun would have done: mac or mc meaning son: so please: many thanks/go raibh mi[accent]le maith agat. this has not yet been seen in ogham:
Imagine you are a mountain, I say to the class. The most beautiful mountain you know, or can imagine (some people may never have seen a mountain, you have to remember). The most beautiful mountain that you know or have ever seen. Imagine the lofty peak, the sloping sides, but the most important bit and the most effective bit I think maybe is the last part where you imagine that your legs, is it your base chakra that it, that your legs and feet are the roots of the mountain, anchored deep in the earth. When I emphasise the beats in that sentence it seems to drive the feet down and in more. Anyway the feet are the roots, anchored deep in the earth, and
Feet come first, especially for footlings. To read...
Youtube: a cadaver's foot wired to move like a live walker is presented by the Journal of Foot and Ankle Studies. 0 comments. 0 thumbs up. 1 thumbs down.
Feet: I have washed out my feet and am writing this post with the toes. The wrong shoes. But I have the information and that is why I have to stay. I have to make people listen to me or it will keep raining. The weather sees us and sends the rain.
The first to go will be the Converse. The red-soled Louboutins. The wrong tights. All of the shoes in a university. On feet always being wet: it travels up the legs and spine to the spleen, the ancients call it the seat of dampness. Depressing the three-mile point in the shin dispels it, or something does. The feet eventually wear away. The first to go will be the university. The wrong tights. The red-souled Louboutin. All of the conversations in a universe. The walk begins in the snow, cleanness melting our lips under the arch. The snow packs the spaces between blades of grass but melts on tar. Under the second arch, across the jail bridge, across one road then another, under the third arch. A gold path leads past silver globes to a breath of cool wood overleaning the ripe river. No snow now, but distant hills faded with it. Finally down past the dead rat with its wet hair spiked like a child, sharp feet splayed, and across the other bridge (press one gloved palm on the stone then to the other palm, tight) and back. |
AboutThis blog was created as part of the 'Writing and Experiment' module in UCC's Creative Writing Department. I hope to develop it as an experiment in poetry and blogging - feedback and creative comments very welcome. Archives
March 2015
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