1. Jacqueline du Pr̩, Edward Elgar РCello Concerto & Enigma Variations
2. The Magnetic Fields – 69 Love Songs
3. Beach House – Bloom
4. mewithoutYou – Ten Stories
5. Tom Waits – Alice
6. Frankie Rose – Interstellar
7. Shearwater – Animal Joy
8. Miles Davis – Ascenseur Pour L’Echafaud
9. Animal Collective – Centipede Hz
10. Sigur Rós – ( )
10. First Aid Kit – The Lion’s Roar
(according to last.fm)
Some sensibilities require the illusion of objectivity in order to get their version of the truth spoken: if the metaphysician realized he was only talking about himself, not about reality, he would be unable to say what he needs to say.
and later:
 Eventually the main road can no longer be seen, but one keeps on writing: because of spite, because one is unfit for anything else and can’t go back, and because of the unbanishable hope that maybe the next turn in the road will bring one back to life.
—Adam Kirsch, Rocket and Lightship
A scroll full of poems by poets of talent,
and big pot full of wine fit for saints.
I love to walk out to watch the young bull calves;
sitting, I’d rather stay close to home.
Frost and dew can soak through thatch,
but the moon flowers white
through the window made of old bottles;
I’m poor, but I can build more windows now,
a couple more cups, to go
with the chanting of two or three new poems.
—Han Shan, from Cold Mountain Poems
Of course, it will be my endeavour to study thoroughly anything that I decide to take up, but it is precisely on this account that the choice is so difficult; for one feels constrained to choose that branch of study in which one can hope to do something complete. And how illusory such hopes often are; how often does one not allow oneself to be transported by a momentary prepossession, or by an old family tradition, or by one’s own personal wishes, so that the choice of a calling seems like a lottery in which there are a large number of blanks and very few winning numbers. Now, I happen to be in the particularly unfortunate position of possessing a whole host of interests connected with the most different branches of learning, and, though the general gratification of these interests may make a learned man of me, they will scarcely convert me into a creature with a vocation. The fact, therefore, that I must destroy some of these interests is perfectly clear to me, as well as the fact that I must allow some new ones to find a home in my brain. But which of them will be so unfortunate as to be cast overboard? Perhaps just the children of my heart!
—Friedrich Nietzsche, in a letter to his mother, May, 1863
The trouble about man is that he insists on being master of his own fate, and he insists on oneness. For instance, having discovered the ecstasy of spiritual love, he insists that he shall have this all the time, and nothing but this, for this is life. It is what he calls ‘heightening’ life. He wants his nerves to be set vibrating in the intense and exhilarating unison with the nerves of another being, and by this means he acquires an ecstasy of vision, he finds himself in glowing unison with all the universe.
But as a matter of fact this glowing unison is only a temporary thing, because the first law of life is that each organism is isolate in itself, it must return to its own isolation.
Yet man has tried the glow of unison, called love, and he likes it. It gives him his highest gratification. He wants it. He wants it all the time. He wants it and he will have it. He doesn’t want to return to his own isolation. Or if he must, it is only as a prowling beast returns to its lair to rest and set out again.
—D.H. Lawrence, Studies in Classic American Literature
Septimus is the American self-made man. God had no hand in his make-up. He made himself. He has been to Europe, no doubt seen everything, including the Venus de Milo. ‘What, is that the Venus de Milo?’ And he turns his back on the lady. He’s seen her. He’s got her. She’s a fish he has hooked, and he’s off to America with her, leaving the scum of a statue standing in the Louvre.
That is one American way of Vandalism. The original Vandals would have given the complacent dame a knock with a battle-axe, and ended her. The insatiable American looks at her. ‘Is that the Venus de Milo ? — come on!’ And the Venus de Milo stands there like a naked slave in a market-place,whom someone has spat on. Spat on!
I have often thought, hearing American tourists in Europe—in the Bargello in Florence, for example, or in the Piazza di San Marco in Venice—exclaiming, ‘Isn’t that just too cun-ning!’ or else, ‘Aren’t you perfectly crazy about Saint Mark’s! Don’t you think those cupolas are like the loveliest turnips upside down, you know’ —as if the beautiful things of Europe were just having their guts pulled out by these American admirers. They admire so wholesale. Sometimes they even seem to grovel. But the golden cupolas of St Mark’s in Venice are turnips upside down in a stale stew, after enough American tourists have looked at them. Turnips upside down in a stale stew. Poor Europe!
And there you are. When a few German bombs fell upon Rheims Cathedral up went a howl of execration. But there are more ways than one of vandalism. I should think the American admiration of five-minutes tourists has done more to kill the sacredness of old European beauty and aspiration than multitudes of bombs would have done.
—D.H. Lawrence, Studies in Classic American Literature
Settle a bet? Music or the smell of good cooking may make people stop and enjoy. Some of us who live in arid parts of the world think about water with a reverence others might find excessive. Its bitter heart may be tenanted now by black and white ants, but its odorous leaves were once the nest of phoenixes and pheasants.
I therefore began a study of Spenser’s Faerie Queene, only to discover that in my beginning was my end. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. And he said, I will not destroy it for ten’s sake. Allen Ginsberg class on American vision, June, 1987. The history of Japanese science fiction usually begins with the 1880 translations of Jules Verne’s From The Earth to the Moon and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.
NOTE: Ladies shirts run about a size small. Working within the paradox of the insufficiency of language and the necessity of expression, these poems elevate overwhelming experiences into near-mythic narrative. There is also this wonderfull Collection class that lets you deal with collections of models and mimic nested models, but I dont want to confuse you from the start. There is breath enough for rock and trout, lung and water, blue cedar, smoke, and skin—all these and more.
“Inspectors,” you said as we drove across, “lolly-gagging.” Where lies the land to which the ship would go? All hosted domains on this account.
And the night was alive and anhungered of life as a tiger from toils cast free: And a rapture of rage made joyous the spirit and strength of the soul of the sea. En el caso de Whitman, uno tiene la impresión de que él ve todo por primera vez, que es lo que debe haber sentido Adán. Every reductionist has his favorite analogy from modern science.
For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine, like an old, old song. Who’s turned off the heat so their dog will cuddle with them. Somebody arranges the rows of cans so that they softly say: ESSO—SO—SO—SO to high-strung automobiles. Tonight my hand can’t read or write. Yours is a face of which I can forget the color and the features, every one, the words not ever, and the smiles not yet; but in your day this moment is the sun upon a hill, after the sun has set.
And I will make thee beds of roses and a thousand fragrant posies, a cap of flowers, and a kirtle embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; a gown made of the finest wool which from our pretty lambs we pull; fair lined slippers for the cold, with buckles of th purest gold; a belt of straw and ivy buds, with coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, come live with me and be my love. What kind of a history and greek made-up character are you trying to create? And then after ten years all I have to offer my poor people is this apple in my hand, doctor, one red apple: my heart. A pot of honey, red as fire!
Fill your bowl to the brim
and it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people’s approval
and you will be their prisoner.Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity.
—Lao-Tzu, Section 9 from Tao Te Ching