John Zerzan
Green Anarchist - Anti-Civ - makes total sense to me
Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it. Anne Lamott
Teaching myself to do gif animation on Photoshop cs5. This was someone else's animation (don't know who to give credit to since I found it on several sites) of frames from "Faust" which I tweaked to make smaller with fewer frames. Next project is to make gifs from videos.
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It's ok that you don't like twilight but you didn't have to fucking RUIN Edward Cullen's face you fucking asshole!
A sigh isn't just a sigh. We inhale the world and breathe out meaning. While we can. While we can.
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Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Back, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice. Charles Bukowski
Last year I had a dream of a chalkboard drawing. It was of a hand with red nail polish waving fingers at me. The Milky Way Galaxy rested in the palm. I took it to mean we were in "good hand." Dreams can be so playful.
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Life is life...life is an eternal return. It is said that the dead come back to Guinea and that death itself is only another name for life.~ Roumain, Masters of the DewI found the following quote in my notebook. I don't know who it's from, but I was reading Nabokov's Bend Sinister at the time, so I may have copied it from there.
Understand that you are in good hands; nothing really matters on earth; there is nothing to fear; and death is but an expansion.Li-Young Lee on his collection of poems, Book of My Nights
I was hoping that this book basically says that it's okay to die, and so the book is kind of singing us into our dying. I don't want to seem morbid, but it feels to me that the process of dying is actually dying into a greater presence. It isn't lessening, it's actually more. And we die into greater awe, greater splendor, greater terror, and greater presence.
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| Death is looking so buff here |
Nothing is more real than nothing. ~Samuel Beckett
So if you really go the whole way and see how you feel at the prospect of vanishing forever. Have all your efforts, and all your achievements, and all your attainments turning into dust and nothingness. What is the feeling? What happens to you?
That’s what it’s all going to come to.
And for some reason or other, we are supposed to find this depressing.
Do you see in a way, how that is saying: the most real state is the state of nothing?
But if somebody is going to argue that the basic reality is nothingness. Where does all this come from? Obviously from nothingness. Once again you get how it looks behind your eyes. You see?
See? So in this way, by seeing that nothingness is the fundamental reality, and you see it’s your reality. Then how can anything contaminate you? All the idea of you being scared, and put out and worried, and so on, this is nothing, it's a dream. Because you're really nothing. But this is most incredible nothing.
So cheer up you see?
The essence of your mind is intrinsically pure. Pure means clear, void.
See? If you think of this idea of nothingness as mere blankness, and you hold onto this idea of blankness then kind of grizzly about it, you haven’t understood it. Nothingness is really like the nothingness of space, which contains the whole universe. All the sun and the stars and the mountains, and rivers, and the good men and bad men, and the animals, and insects, and the whole bit. All are contained in void. So out of this void comes everything and you are it. What else could you be? ~Alan Watts
I used to have several books by Richard Brautigan (A Confederate General from Big Sur, Trout Fishing in America, In Watermelon Sugar, and Revenge of the Lawn) lined up alongside others in the milk crates I used as bookshelves. I'd sit on my sad little bed (foam mattress on a door balanced on four cinder blocks) and read them in the long, late rays of the sun. He reminded me of tall yellow weeds and the Pacific Coast Highway in the fog. Apparently he was very poor and lived in Oregon too.
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"Too often, we don’t know what we should trust or fear, or which of the
events going on all around us are the important ones, although it seems
as if common sense should be able to deliver to us a clear picture of
our priorities. Even the expression 'common sense' seems like wishful
thinking, an idea about plain and honest living that comes from a time
before we knew anything about the workings of the mind and the brain
(which are related to each other in some fashion endlessly argued over
by scientists and philosophers). 'Common-self-delusion' might be more
apt, or 'self-awareness-helpless-to-help-itself.' We’re groping our way
in the dark; we know that we don’t know something, but we aren’t sure
exactly what it is we do or don’t know, do or don’t see." ~ Sarah Stone
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"Think of subtext in fiction as water; its characters, swimmers on the
surface. Like water, subtext is everywhere, ubiquitous and buoyant,
darker in its depths, the stuff of immersion." ~Maria Kochis
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"I’ve learned how to vomit without having to use my fingers, toothbrush etc. for gagging, now I can just puke out of the blue. Very handy for a bulimic. But I wanna recover....
Fuck" ~anonymous comment on Tumblr
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Not sure how to handle the cruel randomness that doubles as some grand plan. Blink and you're born; blink again and you're fading away. What happens to all the stuff in between? What was it all about anyway?
There's a lot to cover in a contemplative blog, you know? Especially if you're working on becoming a decent writer and you're trying to find your voice.
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Life was a funny thing that happened to me on the way to the grave. ~Quentin Crisp
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