That scrap of memory was slid under the door of my forebrain sometime during the night, and I found it on the floor in the morning. File that delay under This Old Brain.

"The lazy meandering stroll of the walker is the true mother of invention. As Virgil wrote, the goddess is known by her footsteps."

#walk #walking

https://doctoromed.wordpress.com/2026/01/20/random-photo-144/

Why break a language? To wake it up.

— Ilya Kaminsky

THE WORD OF GOING DOWN DEEP
that we have read.
The years, the words since then.
We still are who we are.

You know space is infinite,
you know there is no need to fly,
you know: what wrote itself into your eye
deepens us into depth.

— Paul Celan

(transl. from German by Johannes Beilharz)

And at midnight we burn our old socks.

What are you doing on New Year's Eve? We plan on sheltering in place. We don't have any fresh lamb's blood to smear on the door lintels, so we're using the syrup from a jar of Amarena cherries we put in our Manhattans. And if the Angel of Death comes for the firstborn, we'll offer him a stiff one. Louisville pour.

#NewYearsEve

All moons, all years, all days, all winds
reach their completion and pass away.
So does blood reach its place of quiet,
as it reaches its power and its throne.
Measured is the time in which we can praise
the splendor of creation.
Measured is the time in which we can know
the blaze and warmth of the sun.
Measured is the time in which
the phalanx of stars will wheel,
and the gods trapped within the stars
watch over us.

(Adapted from the Book of Chilam Balam.)
You're welcome.

#HappyNewYear