By Allen Ginsberg
To God : to illuminate all men. Beginning with Skid Road.
Let Occidental and Washington be transformed into a higher place, the plaza of eternity.
Illuminate the welders in shipyards with the brilliance of their torches.
Let the crane operator lift up his arm for joy.
Let elevators creak and speak, ascending and descending in awe.
Let the mercy of the flower’s direction beckon in the eye.
Let the straight flower bespeak its purpose in straightness—to seek the light.
Let the crooked flower bespeak its purpose in crookedness—to seek the light.
Let the crookedness and straightness bespeak the light.
Let Puget Sound be a blast of light.
I feed on your Name like a cockroach on a crumb—this cockroach is holy.
I got to continue celebrating Tuesday having lunch at CPK with Kay before Chanukah started in the evening! Though I must peevishly note, like many December babies, how aggravating it is not to have recovered from the one before jumping into the other...it would be so nice to be able to move my birthday to June. Before lunch I tried to catch up on phone calls and emails I didn't have time to get to on Monday, and after lunch I did a bunch of shopping and worked on holiday cards.
Paul made (faux) chicken and latkes for the first night of Chanukah and we watched some more episodes of The Crown courtesy Maddy's Netflix, though she had to work late into the evening. It's quite joyless so far this season; I get that they're trying to humanize her but if the point is that monarchy still serves a valuable function, it's not conveying to this American viewer. I know it's Chanukah but the photos I cropped are all Christmas trees from Yuletide at Winterthur, oops!