Sep 28, 2010


"it has flavor, unlike anything that has been distilled six times. Now, this flavor is a strange, ancient one and might not immediately be to everyone's liking. But at least it's a taste that knows what it wants to be."

Sep 23, 2010

writing break

yamazaki 18
aberlour a'bunadh
talisker 10
ardbeg airigh nam beist
ardbeg corryvreckan
bookers bourbon

nano-lot piura (bag #3), sambirano, and hispaniola, from rogue

honeycrisp/gala unfiltered, unpasteurised cider

courtesy of the letters c, b, and e

Sep 16, 2010

Sep 13, 2010


open at last! congratulations to journeyman: diana, tse wei, meg, dan, seth, and the rest of the team.

Sep 9, 2010

ceaseless practice

Ceaseless practice usually suffices to produce the precise look of subtle imperfection.

Sep 8, 2010

fugue state

the tertiary state of fatigue where the nerves and senses lie bared to direct contact with the world and there is no longer distance or matter between the vision and the absorption, where the mind races, recording, lucid but empty, and beauty can become ours through osmosis.
sybille bedford, the sudden view (also titled a visit to don otavio)

also: seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees.

Sep 3, 2010


There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

robert frost, a boy's will, 1915