Posts by G. E. Schwartz
LILIES I added fertilizer and fresh water to the vase today, but nothing can unsnap the neck of a lily; I also pulled on my excuse of a flannel coat, the one you'd been wearing, the one you'd thought I forgot about.
Keeping the CanCon coming with this Mike Meagher miniature
Ghost Blooms.
© Tia Kinsman
What is that cross? said Camier. There they go again. Planted in the bog, not far from the road, but too far for the inscription to be visible, a plain cross stood. I once knew, said Mercier, but no longer. I too once knew, said Camier, I'm almost sure. But he was not quite sure. It was the grave of a nationalist, brought here in the night by the enemy and executed, or perhaps only the corpse brought here, to be dumped. He was buried long after, with a minimum of formality. His name was Masse, perhaps Massey. No great store was set by him now, in patriotic circles. It was true he had done little for the cause. But he still had this monument. All that, and no doubt much more, Mercier and perhaps Camier had once known, and all forgotten. How aggravating, said Camier. Would you like to go and look? said Mercier. And you? said Camier. As you please, said Mercier.
Memorial to Noel Lemass, with the original cross, near Glassamucky Mountain, Dublin/Wicklow border.
all forgotten
Samuel Beckett, from ‘Mercier and Camier’
all these seemed the strange calm things preluding some riotous and desperate scene
A black and white photo. Taken from above the Empire State’s observation deck, it looks down upon it and features around a dozen white visitors looking upwards. Some are pointing, as if catching sight of a passing plane. This is in the photo’s foreground. Behind and beyond the deck is NYC itself, with its grid system of streets and skyscrapers. The sun lights the scene from the picture’s top right, which throws everything into sharp relief.
The observation deck of the Empire State Building, New York City, 1949, by Burt Glinn.
Over to the New Yorker, where there are mixed opinions about the suburbs.
—John Cheever, journal
Illustration of toad asleep in bed, white covers and pillow, with little light switch above his head.
Week off work and I have the worst cold. Started three weeks ago, felt poorly on and off, seemed to go, came back on my chest and larynx, my voice went, sore throat, now is firmly ravaging my sinuses. Peak misery yesterday and today.
‘Toad did not answer. He had fallen asleep.’
🖼️ Arnold Lobel
I’ve set up a mailing list for people interested in my forthcoming Ultraview Effect book, book-related events, and occasional reflections on the cultural side of space exploration.
You can sign up here:
www.subscribepage.io/deanaweibel
Something very similar happens when New Horizons isn't receiving data... I love space culture.