Wednesday, July 23, 2014
“I am the tiger. I lie in wait for you among leaves Broad as ingots Of wet mineral. The white river grows Beneath the fog. You come. Naked you submerge. I wait. Then in a leap Of fire, blood, teeth, With a claw slash I tear away Your bosom, your hips. I drink your blood, I break Your limbs one by one. And I remain watching For years in the forest Over your bones, your ashes, Motionless, far From hatred and anger, Disarmed in your death, Crossed by lianas, Motionless in the rain, Relentless sentinel Of my murderous love.” — Pablo Neruda
I like you calm, as if you were absent, and you hear me far-off, and my voice does not touch you. It seems that your eyelids have taken to flying: it seems that a kiss has sealed up your mouth. Since all these things are filled with my spirit, you come from things, filled with my spirit. You appear as my soul, as the butterfly’s dreaming, and you appear as Sadness’s word. I like you calm, as if you were distant, you are a moaning, a butterfly’s cooing. You hear me far-off, my voice does not reach you. Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence. Let me commune, then, commune with your silence, clear as a light, and pure as a ring. You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true. I like you calm, as if you were absent: distant and saddened, as if you were dead. One word at that moment, a smile, is sufficient. And I thrill, then, I thrill: that it cannot be so.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Friday, July 11, 2014
"As Einstein said, God does not play dice with the universe; everything is interconnected and has a meaning. That meaning may remain hidden nearly all the time, but we always know we are close to our true mission on earth when what we are doing is touched with the energy of enthusiasm." — Paulo Coelho
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Saturday, July 5, 2014
"Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to." — Alan Wilson Watts
Friday, July 4, 2014
Thursday, July 3, 2014
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