Thursday, October 28, 2010

Your Thing to Ponder (I'll Be Mad)

Just two unrelated quotes for your enjoyment. Wait, are they unrelated? You tell me...


"Run from what's comfortable. Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious. I have tried prudent planning long enough. From now on I'll be mad." - Rumi


"If you can get nothing better out of the world, get a good dinner out of it, at least." - Herman Melville


(Photography by Stacey "The Burred" Wright 2010)

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Your Thing to Ponder (It Still Will Rain)

Am I the only person in the world who thinks the last chapter of Death In The Afternoon can stand on its own as a beautiful piece of writing? This is the last part of that last chapter. 


Hemingway's was the "lost generation". I think mine is too.


"I know things change now and I do not care. It's all been changed for me. Let it all change. We'll all be gone before it's changed too much and if no deluge comes when we are gone it still will rain in summer in the north and hawks will nest in the Cathedral at Santiago and in La Granja, where we practiced with the cape on the long gravelled paths between the shadows, it makes no difference if the fountains play or not. We never will ride back from Toledo in the dark, washing the dust out with Fundador, nor will there be that week of what happened in the night in that July in Madrid. We've seen it all go and we'll watch it go again. The great thing is to last and get your work done and see and hear and learn and understand; and write when there is something that you know; and not before; and not too damned much after. Let those who want to save the world if you can get to see it clear and as a whole. Then any part you make will represent the whole if it's made truly. The thing to do is work and learn to make it. No. It is not enough of a book; but still there were a few things to be said. There were a few practical things to be said." - Ernest Hemingway

That Was September

Friday night, Saturday morning drive:
Blinking heavy. Clotted street. 
Muddy weedy fogginess of:
Too much on my mind
Too many loose ends
Too many little
Pains and frustrations.
Wish = would pass.
I'm not much for conversation;
Fall gratefully to sleep, 
All standing,
Fitful in no less than
Half a dozen dreams on
Separate subjects.
Morning: weary.
Mourning...?
Breathing slows down
To a thread inside.
Like I shouldn't be there,
"hidden" in the kitchen.
But coffee cheers a little 
In the smattered shade
Of a lonely tree.
Creeping ivy.
Sun down:
Sporadic reading
Chewing cuticles
Sore and bloody.
Lean just breathing 
Against the wall.
Half past one before
The witches' hour:
The wake
Of a whirlwind.
Can we objectify 
Spirit? 
Maybe.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

From the Horse to Us, or Over and Out

"Again and again, we sadly seem to forget that we cannot force or bend the horse to our will, that instead this absolutely must come completely freely from the horse to us. From the concepts of ramener - the head position - to the concept of rassembler - where the entire horse's mind and body come together in full power - all of this is natural in the horse. Collection is form and function, versus rassembler, which is heart, soul, quality, and art. It is who we are, not what we are." - Unknown


Everything's eventual, as Stephen King pointed out. You didn't need to kill it. I'm talking to you.


This is the last time. Hope is fear gone bad. Don't ever forget that, kids.


"Self-absorbed chancre sore love you like a matador life is just a metaphor nothing's fair love is war. Nothing more."

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Like An Axis of the Earth

This weather takes me to the hunt, the chase, flying the timber...it's killing me. 


For all my fellow transients, whether of the physical or mental variety:



“It is for want of self-culture that the superstition of Travelling, whose idols are Italy, England, Egypt, retains its fascination for all educated Americans. They who made England, Italy, or Greece venerable in the imagination did so by sticking fast where they were, like an axis of the earth. In manly hours, we feel that duty is our place. The soul is no traveller; the wise man stays at home, and when his necessities, his duties, on any occasion call him from his house, or into foreign lands, he is at home still, and shall make men sensible by the expression of his countenance, that he goes the missionary of wisdom and virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign, and not like an interloper or a valet.
"I have no churlish objection to the circumnavigation of the globe, for the purposes of art, of study, and benevolence, so that the man is first domesticated, or does not go abroad with the hope of finding somewhat greater than he knows. He who travels to be amused, or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old even in youth among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, his will and mind have become old and dilapidated as they. He carries ruins to ruins.
"Travelling is a fool’s paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go. ” – Emerson