Don’t let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love. ― Gabriel García Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores. (Vintage 2006) Originally published October 19th 2004.
To Myself You are riding the bus again burrowing into the blackness of Interstate 80, the sole passenger with an overhead light on. And I am with you. I’m the interminable fields you can’t see, the little lights off in the distance (in one of those rooms we are living) and I am the rain… Continue reading Franz Wright
Never envy a man his lady. Behind it all lays a living hell. – Charles Bukowski, letter to Steven Richmond (Published in Charles Bukowski: Locked in the Arms of a Crazy Life by Howard Sounes) Grove Press; 1st Paperback Edition edition (May 2, 2000)
When I love, it happens almost all at once. It is inconsiderate, unrefined— a child screeching in a supermarket. It is a thunder clap. It is a small village blackout. It is Aphrodite rising from the sea foam, fully formed. — Salma Deera, “The Graceless Matter of Loving,” Letters From Medea. (October 17, 2015)
Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist. — George Carlin
I’ve seen people misplace themselves in such a heart flare-up. Watched their temperatures drop and I don’t know much about wilderness but on days like these when you are harder to find I want to learn the word seasons properly. Feel its backside roll against my molars so I can feel free, like when we… Continue reading Angel Nafis
We are too late for the gods and too early for Being. — Martin Heidegger, from “The Thinker as Poet,” Poetry, Language, Thought, trans. Albert Hofstadter, New York: Harper, 1971: 4, 7.