On (the persistence of) memory

 When my mother died, I was very young,

And my father sold me while yet my tongue

Could scarcely cry ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep!’ 

So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

I love you Mr William Blake,

Now I know why I remember China so dark –

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6 Comments

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6 responses to “On (the persistence of) memory

  1. Brat Payal

    On Julie! Father, daughter n unholy sin…love the pic..artist??

  2. Ja! It is very close to me:

    No illusions!
    No delusions!

    We knew only the Truth of Destruction!
    We – Over! … and my one-legged
    father taught me only how to kill:

    kill Buddha!
    kill Christ!
    kill Hitler!
    kill yourself!

    my mother – Nothing, but older
    and more sorrowful …

    my father – Nobody, but more merciless
    and sadder …

    Look: my daughter goes from Emptiness
    to Emptiness in order to kill every tear
    before her birth:

    And now Absence doesn’t cry anymore,
    Emptiness doesn’t spend any more money
    on funerals –

    that’s the Truth of Non-existence!

    “Nothing” is my mother –
    “Nobody” is my father –
    and there are no tears between
    them!

    Nein!

  3. Brat P

    Dedicate my”tea” to this…:)

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