I read somewhere that things are never lost; that we just intend for someone else to find it. Whether metaphorical or material I don’t really know. “Shadows of the Sun: The Diaries of Harry Crosby” is the strange and mysterious canticle of a wealthy bon vivant poet and WWI war veteran with an obsession with the sun. I left the book without realizing at a friend’s house over winter. I decided that she can keep the book under one condition: that she understand its importance; she will. We must give every ounce of ourselves away. We are our own paradise. We must understand that time and fate is a fickle sea of illusions. We are the dust of glass. We are the oblivion of wind and rain that beats against our necks on a gray ungodly Saturday morning. We are the gospel of weevils in the rustle of ancient leaves. We are the shipwrecked moon on a sea of drowned swans. We are memory trapped in the unconcious gossamer of desire. We are the lust of dynamite and gun powder. We are tongues in the backseat of old cars. We are but mere spectacles in a theater of smoke & mirrors.
“The Sun-God is a harmony of colors which break off into particles to float earthward like colored snow flakes. Each color-flake has a soul. When two of them merge into one, the Sun-God draws them back to like Forever in His Inner Color in the form of a star or a moon or a sun. But the majority of the flakes fall to the ground unmerged and melt without ever having merged. These are lost souls. But once two souls have merged it is Irrevocable, it is for Eternity in the Color-Kingdom of God. In the Color-Kingdom of the Sun.” ∞ Harry Crosby
Happy weekend. Let the good times roll….