Cathedrals of Culture

by Wim Wenders

Part 1 

Part 2


‘Fragment 31’ – Sappho

He seems to me equal to gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet speaking
and lovely laughing–oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
is left in me

no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
fills ears

and cold sweat holds me and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass
I am and dead–or almost
I seem to me.

But all is to be dared, because even a person of poverty

Sure of foot

Turns out one of the guys I went to Red Rocks with is into Buildering; which is urban climbing.  Sometimes with rope and gear, and sometimes (mostly…it seems to me) without anything.  It intersects with the sports of climbing, parkour and urban exploring and seems to take a lot of shapes worldwide.

I love this site he posted  Two russian guys with the most spectacular photos, particularly of china.  Its a breathtaking series that scares the shit out of you, and also begs you to oggle architecture from a completely new and staggering viewpoint.


“Vacation Sex” Dorianne Laux

We’ve been at it all summer, from the Canadian border
to the edge of Mexico, just barely keeping it American
but doing okay just the same, in hotels under overpasses
or rooms next to ice machines, friends’ fold-out couches,
in-laws’ guest quarters—wallpaper and bedspreads festooned
with nautical rigging, tiny life rings and coiled tow ropes—

even one night in the car, the plush backseat not plush
enough, the door handle giving me an impromptu
sacro-cranial chiropractic adjustment, the underside
of the front seat strafing the perfect arches of his feet.
And one long glorious night in a cabin tucked in the woods
where our crooning and whooping started the coyotes

singing. But the best was when we got home, our luggage
cuddled in the vestibule—really just a hallway
but because we were home it seemed like a vestibule—
and we threw off our vestments, which were really
just our clothes but they seemed like garments, like raiment,
like habits because we felt sorely religious, dropping them

one by one on the stairs: white shirts, black bra, blue jeans,
red socks, then stood naked in our own bedroom, our bed
with its drab spread, our pillows that smelled like us:
a little shampoo-y, maybe a little like myrrh, the gooseberry
candle we light sometimes when we’re in the mood for mood,
our own music and books and cap off the toothpaste and cat

on the window seat. Our window looks over a parking lot—
a dental group—and at night we can hear the cars whisper
past the 24-hour Albertson’s where the homeless couple
buys their bag of wine before they walk across the street
to sit on the dentist’s bench under a tree and swap it
and guzzle it and argue loudly until we all fall asleep.

Mindless garbage/just can’t help myself

I am now late for work because of THIS.


Thanks tyra.


Canada day

2 mountain bike rides (oh my oh my I suck so bad it was so scary) and a day of bouldering and one day of paddle boarding (which is surprisingly boring) and 2 games of whiffle golf (don’t watch the whole video; and what you do watch mute because you don’t need to hear those monkeys) which happened to be the besets way to hike around a hidden forest outside emerald estates in Whistler. Happy Canada day loves. Come and be kids with me in our hometown.