Every Thing An Essay from Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears by Smiljan Radić A crumpled drawingThe tower
Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears A Book by Smiljan Radić www.artbook.com AssemblagesPlaces I will never goNo Objection to the Moon...A Guide to AbandonmentDeath at Home+3 More
No Objection to the Moon... An Essay from Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears by Smiljan Radić The deeper unconscious intentions
A Guide to Abandonment An Essay from Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears by Smiljan Radić These loose notesHours
Death at Home An Essay from Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears by Smiljan Radić To build a follySimple moments of clarity
Some Remains of My Heroes Found Scattered Across a Vacant Lot An Essay from Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears by Smiljan Radić To prove it in purityRaindrops leaving an erratic trail euphony
The Circus An Essay from Every So Often a Talking Dog Appears by Smiljan Radić EnduranceThere it is againPreparing a stage
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage A Poem by Lord Byron www.gutenberg.org And thus the heart will breakWords which are thingsThere is a pleasure in the pathless woods lovenaturelonelinessmelancholy
And thus the heart will break They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn: The tree will wither long before it fall: The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall In massy hoariness; the ruined wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; The bars survive the captive they enthral; The day drags through though storms keep out the sun; And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. SceneryA little act of hope timelovemelancholyi
Words which are things I have not loved the world, nor the world me; I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee,— Nor coined my cheek to smiles, nor cried aloud In worship of an echo; in the crowd They could not deem me one of such; I stood Among them, but not of them; in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued. I have not loved the world, nor the world me,— But let us part fair foes; I do believe, Though I have found them not, that there may be Words which are things,—hopes which will not deceive, And virtues which are merciful, nor weave Snares for the falling: I would also deem O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; That two, or one, are almost what they seem,— That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. solitudegoodness
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more. nature