Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts

14 January, 2025

Recluse

The circle inside grows smaller as the boundary wall expands and spikes. Will there be enough room left for 3? 1? None? 


12 years on and I'm reminded of The Coast of Utopia once again: 

'He’s a free man because he gives away freely. I’m beginning to understand the trick of freedom. Freedom can’t be a residue of what was unfreely given up, divided up like a fought-over loaf. Every giving up has to be self-willed, freely chosen, unenforceable. Each of us must forgo only what we choose to forgo, balancing our personal freedom of action against our need for the cooperation of other people- who are each making the same balance for themselves. What is the largest number of individuals who can pull this trick off? I would say it’s smaller than a nation, smaller than the ideal communities of Cabet or Fourier. I would say the largest number is smaller than three. Two is possible, if there is love, but two is not a guarantee.'

[Tom Stoppard - The Coast of Utopia: Shipwreck]


[Joni Mitchell - Both Sides Now]


How does a person that wants community keep one when most let them down?






All I think about is you.

18 August, 2021

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing

~


Today, like every other day, we wake up empty

and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study

and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.


Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.


~


Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

there is a field. I’ll meet you there.


When the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

doesn’t make any sense.


~


[Rumi - "A Great Wagon"]


09 September, 2013

To Kill a Mockingbird

I saw through the eyes of a child and was sent back in time to summers before I referred to myself as me. When adventures meant challenging ghosts on dark autumn nights and hiding in forests to cast spells. When it was easy knowing what's right. When little experience had many stories to tell. Many more stories to tell than I have now.


'I hated him for that, but when you are in trouble you become easily tired: soon I was hiding in his lap and his arms were around me.'

[Harper Lee]

16 February, 2013

No vot

Sõbrad kirjutavad uusi laule
Ja laulavad vanu
Loome uusi tantse
Unustame vanad
Uued krutskid uued lood
nostalgia on hoor
põrgu uimasti
uinume koos




...selle ilusa kirjutise leidsin oma vanalt kõvalt kettalt. 


                           ??

13 May, 2012

The worlds end in London


[Low - Sunflower]

'In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river...

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.'

[T. S. Eliot]

The radiation will come for all of us.

28 February, 2012

Beginners [v]

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." 
[- The Velveteen Rabbit]
  
Hal: 'Well, let's say that since you were little, you always dreamed of getting a lion. And you wait, and you wait, and you wait, and you wait, but the lion doesn't come. And along comes a giraffe. You can be alone, or you can be with the giraffe.' 
Oliver: 'I'd wait for the lion.' 
Hal: 'That's why I worry about you.'


[Fleet Foxes - Your Protector]

23 January, 2012

Back Door Man

Jim Morrison: Life, Death, Legend by Stephen Davis- a witty and thorough view on Jim Morrison's life. I'm about half-way through and thought I'd share some of my favourite bits...

' ''Film Studies'' was a new academic field in 1964, and film student was considered synonymous with goofball, slacker, draft dodger.'

'In his notebooks Jimmy wrote concentrated poems that described a superhuman elite of elevated beings- ''the Lords''- who operated on a higher psychic plane than the rest of humanity, who ''saw things as they were.'' The Lords invisibly imposed a version of social control that seems derived from William S. Borroughs's Nova Mob.'

'But classmates acknowledge that Morrison was unusually dedicated to learning the obscure byways of film history. Ray Manzarek recalls that Jimmy once hitchhiked 450 miles all night to Berkeley for a one-time-only screening of French existentialist hero Jean Genet's ultrarare homoerotic prison movie Un Chant d'Amour. Only the hippiest, most hard-core cinema freaks in L.A. took the trouble to make the scene. ''Jim was a very talented and brilliant person,'' Phil O'Leno said. ''But he was a little too young to be wise.'' '

'The Ravens were fun, but mediocre. With no original songs and a charisma-challenged lineup, it was a band going nowhere.' (I will definitely be adding the term 'charisma-challenged' to my vocabulary!)

'But mostly Jim had just stopped eating. Instead he began taking daily doses of LSD, using the still-legal hallucinogen to raise his consciousness and blot out the psychic trauma of his past.'

'Or he and Phil O'Leno would drop acid and freak out along the canals, trying to scare each other.'

'Bill Gazzari wouldn't even let Jim into his club to audition because he was barefoot. This went on for a while, Gazzari recalled. ''One day Jim said, 'Bill, can we come in now?' I leaned over the counter and he had one shoe on. He didn't have a shoe on the other foot. I said, 'Did you lose a shoe?' Jim said, 'No, I found one so I could get in.' '' '

'Talent does whatever it wants to. Genius does only what it can.' - Eugene Delacroix

'Sometimes, when stuck for a lyric while he was improvising, he'd crack a popper under his nose. Jim's eyes rolled up into his head and he'd collapse over the keyboard. Ray just kept playing until Jim regained consciousness and the set would go on.'

'On Saturday night, while John Densmore and Pam were talking in one of the Fog's booths, Jim Morrison made his move and sat down with them. There was talk of mutual friends, astrology, acid, and real estate. Ray later tried to accurately describe this encounter: 'Once their eyes combined, their psyches did a caduceus up the staff of Mercury and their souls sprouted wings. They were mated. Olympian. Cosmic.'' '

'She acted out the role of rock star wife to the max, calling herself Mrs. Morrison, wearing a wedding ring, and burning through his money as if he owned a bank. He never married her, he often cheated on her (and she on him), but he always came back to her. He wrote to her, dedicated his poetry to her, and left her everything in the end. Jim Morrison loved Pamela Courson to death.'

'At least once a week Pam would explode in fury, throw open the bedroom window, and dump Jim's clothes and books into the street, screaming curses and bloody murder as the laundry and literature flew. Mirandi Babitz ascribed some of Pam's chronic unhappiness to sexual incompatibility between the two lovers. Jim, Babitz claimed, preferred anal intercourse, while Pamela, who was tiny and rail thin, was less than thrilled taking Jim's reputedly prodigious reproductive organ into her rectum.'

(On Jim's photo shoot with Gloria Stavers) 'She shot him pouting like a sex kitten, and posing against her brick walls like a Greek hero. She told him about her trip with Lenny Bruce, and showed him how to stay thin and sexy by throwing up the food he'd eaten. At dawn they tumbled into bed. She lubricated herself with melted butter and let Jim do what he liked best. A couple of months later, when The Doors was released, Sixteen published a fawning, breathless cover story under the headline: ''Morrison Is Magic!'' '

'He was extremely welcome at Warhol's midtown studio, the Factory, where he scored pills from the regulars and star-quality blow jobs from Nico in a bathroom covered in aluminum foil.'

Jim about himself: 'I've always been attracted to ideas that were about revolt against authority. I like ideas about the breaking away or overthrowing of established order. I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos- especially activity that seems to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road toward freedom. Rather than starting inside, I start outside- reach the mental through the physical.'