~

Mar 12

“his paintings would not be as valuable
now
if he hadn’t
sliced off his ear
worn that rag around his head
and then done it to himself
among the cornstalks.
and wouldn’t that one’s poems be
so famous if he hadn’t
faded at 19,
given it all up to
go gun running and gold hunting
in Africa only to
die of syphilis?
what about the one who was
murdered in the road
by Spanish fascists?
did that
give his words more
meaning?
or take the one who was a
national hero
those iceberg symphonies soaring
cutting that particular sky
in half
he had it all working for him
then he got worried about old age
saved his head
went into his house
vanished and was never seen
again.
such strange behavior, didn’t somebody
once say?
that the man should be as durable as his
art, that’s what they want, they want the
impossible: creation and creator to be as
one. this is the dirty trick
of the ages.”

Beethoven conducted his last symphony while totally deaf

Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)

Aug 4

Desire is no light thing…

Excerpts from Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson

All the substances in the world went floating up. Suddenly there was nothing to interfere with horses being hollow hooved. Or a river being root silver. Or a child bruiseless. Or hell as deep as the sun is high. Or Herakles ordeal strong. Or a planet middle night stuck. Or an insomniac outside the joy. Or killings cream black. (page 5)

It was the hour when snow goes blue and streetlights come on and a hare may pause on the tree line as still as a word in a book. (page 91)

He would pretend to be asleep so he could lean against Herakles’ shoulder. The smell of the leather jacket near his face and the hard pressure of Herakles’ arm under the leather sent a wave of longing as strong as a color through Geryon. It exploded in the bottom of his belly. Then the blanket shifted. He felt Herakles’ hand move on his thigh and Geryon’s head went back like a poppy in a breeze as Herakles’ mouth came down on his blackness and sank through him. Herakles’ hand was on his zipper. Geryon gave himself up to pleasure as the aeroplane moved at 978 kilometers per hour through clouds registering -57 degrees centigrade. Two women with toothbrushes stumbled up the aisle in the reddish dawn dark. These are all very fine passengers, thought Geryon dreamily as he and the plane began to descent to Lima. (page 118-119)

Ancash stepped forward and pulled Geryon’s overcoat down past his shoulders and off his arms. It fell to the floor. Then he thrust the blanket into Geryon’s hands and spun him around so he could start wrapping from the back. All of a sudden the night was a bowl of silence. Jesus Mary and Joseph, said Ancash quietly. He gave a low whistle. Ancash had not seen Geryon’s wings before. (page 127)

When they made love Geryon liked to touch in slow succession each of the bones of Herakles’ back as it arched away from him into who knows what dark dream of it’s own, running both hands all the way down from the base of the neck to the end of the spine which he can cause to shiver like a root in the rain. (page 141)

Feb 21

“I was sentimental about many things: a woman’s shoes under the bed; one hairpin left behind on the dresser; the way they said, “I’m going to pee..”’ hair ribbons; walking down the boulevard with them at 1:30 in the afternoon, just two people walking together; the long nights of drinking and smoking; talking; the arguments; thinking of suicide; eating together and feeling good; the jokes; the laughter out of nowhere; feeling miracles in the air; being in a parked car together; comparing past loves at 3am; being told you snore; hearing her snore; mothers, daughters, sons, cats, dogs; sometimes death and sometimes divorce; but always carring on, always seeing it through; reading a newspaper alone in a sandwich joint and feeling nausea because she’s now married to a dentist with an I.Q. of 95; racetracks, parks, park picnics; even jails; her dull friends; your dull friends; your drinking, her dancing; your flirting, her flirting; her pills, your fucking on the side and her doing the same; sleeping together” Charles Bukowski - Women

(via fuckyeahbukowski)

Feb 19

Ferbitz & Brother Jon

Feb 17

If you were coming in the fall,
I’d brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.

~ Emily Dickinson

I wish we could take every path… I could spend a hundred years adoring you…

via Kurt White

(via sexismandthecity)

Feb 15

stonedcats:

(cat via catasters)

“Heeeyyyy… What?”

Dec 1

stonedcats:

(~~cat~~ tiger via theanimalblog)

“Whoa, for a minute there I thought I was an actual kitten. It felt so real, man.”