Metamorphite's Blog

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Category: tally this

Latest in object lust is this money clip wallet by Stewart/Stand.  Consider the sleek profile and slender design; whereas I’d usually find it overly brash to wrap my money in a nest of spun steel mesh, what with virtual embezzlement on the rise, why wouldn’t I want my wallet to be impervious to wireless intrusion and other shit like that?  The photo links to a tutorial about how America’s recent klepto-trend works:  RFID identity theft.  Assuming US citizens know about the problem, I’m glad that we can still own beautiful things like this to overshadow our hyper-paranoia about losing our assets during commutes on public transit.


The Gates of Heaven

After todayʻs accomplished, hanging-on-the-fridge get-through, I really feel just one weekend getaway away from my own peripheryʻs expansion into omnipotence and I admire having these five senses.  But on top, surrounding, beneath, among, between, around, I would rather be that consciousness to blanket all things that slip past me while waiting in line toward becoming some more of that wrinkled foliage of chronological dominance.  Like this, show me wonder, everywhere.

Queen Idolatry for the knowing

when opposites are aphrodisiacal its hard to define my limits, in a limestone bust that ignores the march of progress, or on a living muse projecting everything sheerly frighteningly luminously beautiful.

Dis jus’ drunk talk

I’ve been drinking lately… drinking lots. Having been swindled into refacing all the ugly that lies beneath my surface area, currently and timely. After being dusted for all the residuals of failed romance. Post-neglection of being nickeled and dimed out to save what’s left of me, there are days I wake up and regret my shenanigans, usually through a veil of laughter or mockery in the most belittling way. Why do I always talk about myself?

WTH-WPL-how that good

No other choke-up like reading in earnest, lyrics to that perfectly-composed song. Add a haunting melody to match and the power of music is achieved.  ‘Nu’a o ka Palai’ by Leleiōhoku is prime in its display of metaphor conveying meaning with obscurity yet.  Although my rationale is settled that so rare is it to find me pinning my grief to a parallel outside of myself, such as a song, I can still majorly identify with the composer.  The young Prince, in writing, shows easily just how stricken he was, by the same pain we all know too damn well.

Here, wetness probably refers to tears, as ensued by the cold loneliness, as felt by the return of a memory so fond to one touched by love.  The bed of soft fronds, for which the song is titled, met not with a place of repose more pleasing to the two lovers.  Literarily, rhetorically, the composer leaves the subtlety as the catalyst for imaginative nostalgia to take over when read by others, when movement happens:

Kau ano mai ana iau

Na kulu paka ua eloelo

Elo oe elo wau i ke anu

Pulupe a pau i ke anu.


Aia i ka nua o ka palai

ka wewehi wai olu a loko

Halialia mai ana

Iau puuwai kapalili.


Kao Hanalei i ke anu

Hanupanupa i ke koekoe

Koekoe au ia oe

E ka pua kuu pua i ka iu.

Safe in their alabaster chambers

By Emily Dickinson


Safe in their alabaster chambers,

Untouched by morning and untouched by noon,

Sleep the meek members of the resurrection.

Rafter of satin, and roof of stone.


Light laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine;

Babbles the bee in a stolid ear;

Pipe the sweet birds in ignorant cadence,

— Ah, what sagacity perished here!


Grand go the years in the crescent above them;

Worlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,

Diadems drop and Doges surrender,

Soundless as dots on a disk of snow.

the prettiest perch