No palms dolled up the tedium, no breathing wind. No problem was the buzzword then, their way to go. In truth, my case was black as sin, a thing to hide, In that they feigned to find me sane, so not to know. Someone brought in a medium. Anathema! Some clown sewed up my eyes, he said it wouldn't show. Confusing hands with craze, they howled, "Let's cut them off." Confusing, too, their spies, my lies without an echo. Time and again they stitched my mind with warp and woof. Time pounded in my ruby heart, doing a slow, Slow dim-out in that lupanar, slow take, slow fade, Slow yawning like a door. "Hello," I said. "HELLO." There, flung across the room between inside and out, There must have shown itself to me. . .an afterglow. With such a blaze to celebrate where centuries meet With time itself, how could I hesitate? Although Still trapped in the millennium I knew I had Still time to blow some kisses. Look up, there they go!
Dorothea Tanning - 1910-2012
Now that legal tender has lost its tenderness, and its very legality is so often in question, it may be time to consider the zero— long rows of them, empty, black circles in clumps of three, presided over by a numeral or two. Admired, even revered, these zeros of imaginary money capture the open gaze of innocents like a vision of earthly paradise. Now the zero has a new name: The Economy. As for that earthly paradise—well...