COMPLACENCIES of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug, mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. The pungent oranges and bright, green wings Seem things in some procession of the dead, Winding across wide water, without sound. The day is like wide water, without sound, Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet Over the seas, to silent Palestine, Dominion of the blood and sepulchre. –Wallace Stevens
I was raised up believing I was somehow unique Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me But I don't, I don't know what that will be I'll get back to you someday soon you will see What's my name, what's my station, oh, just tell me what I should do I don't need to be kind to the armies of night that would do such injustice to you Or bow down and be grateful and say "sure, take all that you see" To the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me And I don't, I don't know who to believe I'll get back to you someday soon you will see If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see Of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak Yeah I'm tongue-tied and dizzy and I can't keep it to myself What good is it to sing helplessness blues, why should I wait for anyone else? And I know, I know you will keep me on the shelf I'll come back to you someday soon myself If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm raw If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore And you would wait tables and soon run the store Gold hair in the sunlight, my light in the dawn If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore Someday I'll be like the man on the screen –Fleet Foxes "Helplessness Blues"
"I always speak the truth. Not the whole truth, because there's no way to say it all. Saying it all is materially impossible: words fail. Yet it is through this very impossibility that the truth holds to the real."-Jacques Lacan
Via Wine & Bowties:
“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect – you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break – her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.” –Bob Marley
"Tell love you are going to the Junior's Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if love stays, it can have half. It will stay. Tell love you want a momento of it and obtain a lock of its hair. Burn the hair in a dime-store incense burner with yin/yang symbols on three sides. Face southwest. Talk fast over the burning hair in a convincingly exotic language. Remove the ashes of the burnt hair and use them to paint a mustache on your face. Find love. Tell it you are someone new. It will stay. Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire. Dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.” –Tom Robbins, from "Still Life With Woodpecker"