matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: The Somnambulist Wonders
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2008/11/somnambulist-wonders.html
Thursday, November 6, 2008. About birds and tiny magnets in their brain. Lending direction in flight. Do planets pull. If thunder on Jupiter rolls. With more venom will feathers bristle. Against the leaves in fear? What kinds of treasures the rain has known. What the rain can tell him about being dirty. What it feels like to be inundated. With another being's grime. If a few marionettes twitch at night. Though their strings are hooked at the ceiling. If the wood under the paint senses the water.
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: boop
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2008/12/boop.html
Saturday, December 27, 2008. This is already available on the internets, but I wanted to add it here in the interest of updating this thing once in a blue moon and keeping a super accurate inventory of the 365 in 365 challenge (which I will not be able to triumph over, but will probably inspire a new record in me.). Watching Iris Sleep (Android Attempts to Dream). Light seeps higher and higher through the clouds. Like a bashful coffee stain. The bed springs creak satisfied chicken sounds. Your mother tol...
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: November 2008
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2008_11_01_archive.html
Thursday, November 6, 2008. About birds and tiny magnets in their brain. Lending direction in flight. Do planets pull. If thunder on Jupiter rolls. With more venom will feathers bristle. Against the leaves in fear? What kinds of treasures the rain has known. What the rain can tell him about being dirty. What it feels like to be inundated. With another being's grime. If a few marionettes twitch at night. Though their strings are hooked at the ceiling. If the wood under the paint senses the water. To those...
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: Sage
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2009/01/sage.html
Thursday, January 1, 2009. To cleanse a house. Sophisticates of superstition burn sage. The light leaves bundled with thread. Prone to immolation and stillness. Easy to blow on the bundles. Illicit billows of smoke. But you must remember to believe. Cast out your doubts into the embers. The smell clinging to room's corners. Like baby birds haunt their flight filled mothers. Will remind you of your hopes. Or what you would burn away. Elegant way of drawing different dimensions from fire.
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: Nightingale
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2008/12/nightingale.html
Sunday, December 28, 2008. A pale girl brushes soil away from. A large bird skeleton, wing stretched for flight,. Made of milky white diamond. The scars are honed and. Perfected in the mirror, then seek. Impressive sympathy in the flesh of another. In his dreams songs are specks of grit,. Slivers of ornamental glass battered smooth,. Felt in the ridges of his teeth instead of tasted. An orange tree is chopped down. Still warm and bleeding amber sap. The insects cede long prized labyrinth to fires. Recove...
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: pretentious!
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2008/12/pretentious.html
Wednesday, December 31, 2008. It stands in the eastern room. With posture breeding perfect clarity,. Lucid as mirrors in microscopes and cameras,. Decisive and easy as points scored in a game,. Either flying or falling. The western room is more like a carnival. In the sense that the flesh gains celebrity,. Yet there is less opacity, there are hands. Placing prisms in front of mirrors and. Fortune tellers weaving themselves into open palms. The flying or falling is less important. Back log, again.
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: UXO Laos
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2009/01/uxo-laos.html
Thursday, January 1, 2009. During the Vietnam war America dropped around 240 million bombs on Laos, a small and neutral country. About 30% of these bombs never exploded and remain in the fields of Laos. The UXO is an organization that finds and detonates these bombs. Luang ran over a bomb. The first day of the dry season. Her smile gone forever, rising. With young grass and dust over the pines. She had been waiting for the sun. Through months of rain and mud. Luang sits inside, hugging her crutches,.
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: December 2008
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2008_12_01_archive.html
Wednesday, December 31, 2008. Back log, again. She was dragged up to our manor. With a chest full of copper kettles,. Words of water boil and steam whistle. Cassandra got her kicks from. Shouting in finely honed tones of. Shrill anger no one turned to hear,. But our dogs would bite the air. And scratch their ears for respite. Her bloody prophecies dropped. Unheeded by people’s feet. Like bees halted in north winds. When we brought her here. She had developed strange theories. About voices and attention.
matildathehun.blogspot.com
Matilda The Hun: January 2009
http://matildathehun.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html
Thursday, January 1, 2009. To cleanse a house. Sophisticates of superstition burn sage. The light leaves bundled with thread. Prone to immolation and stillness. Easy to blow on the bundles. Illicit billows of smoke. But you must remember to believe. Cast out your doubts into the embers. The smell clinging to room's corners. Like baby birds haunt their flight filled mothers. Will remind you of your hopes. Or what you would burn away. Luang ran over a bomb. The first day of the dry season. But her lightnin...
