RainyCoast

While I have been fumbling over books And thinking about God and the Devil and all, Other young men have been battling with the days And others have been kissing the beautiful women. They have brazen faces like battering-rams. But I who think about books and such- I crumble to impotent dust before the struggling, And the women palsy me with fear. But when it comes to fumbling over books And thinking about God and the Devil and all, Why, there I am. But perhaps the battering-rams are in the right of it, Perhaps, perhaps ... God knows. Aldous Huxley

Ted owes Wendel eleven liras. PRESS

i cannot believe the severity of this relapse. it's like i've made no improvement at all?! need a new schedule, definitely.

“I paid, got up, walked to the door, opened it. I heard the man say, "that guy's nuts." out on the street I walked north feeling curiously honored.” - Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense “Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well- warmed, and well-fed.” - Herman Melville “I have not asked for life. But I try to accept whatever life brings without surprise. And I shall depart again without having questioned anyone about my strange stay here on earth.” - Omar Khayyam I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff—and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. And from the inside, too, I’d duplicate Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate: Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass Hang all the furniture above the grass, And how delightful when a fall of snow Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so As to make chair and bed exactly stand Upon that snow, out in that crystal land! -Nabokov

Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, "I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man." -Tagore, Stray birds

The world won't last. What are You? What am I? -Yunus Emre I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night —from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children, Hidden excitedly, containing laughter. Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind Cannot bear very much reality. —from "Burnt Norton" (Part 1 of "Four Quartets") by T. S. Eliot When she heard the news, my mother caused the Greek fleet to be deprived of favorable winds on its way to Troy. Witch, they called her, dirty witch—and she, so pretty, chopping the mushrooms, laughing and crying over the stew pot. —from "Heroic Moment" by Charles Simic I speak frankly and that makes me happy: I am the slave of love, I am free of both worlds. I am a bird from heaven's garden. How do I describe that separation, my fall into this snare of accidents? Hafiz - Ghazal 44 - "The Green Sea of Heaven" Hi TMdude, you're back! it's a weird but apparently frequent occurence, innit?

exactly what i needed to read today.

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awwwrighttttty thennnnn going to adult like an adultitty adult and pretend there are no bleeps in my lacanian void outta my void, bleepers!

i thought i had recovered 99%. i am sick of trying. this must have been like the 1000th try. nothing helps any more. just want to pretend nothing exists. I am starting to wish i could drink or toke or...dunno, something. their reactions when Christian died. Ha. Disgusting bleeps. Pieces o'.... Thanks for your bleeping bleep, bleeps. Sick twisted bleeping bleeps. Have i said bleeps yet? send me a hello Kiki. Ephraim could use one too. Luv you darling.

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i keep saying everything boils down to oedipus...always.

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les claypool baby.

not a book but a good read. on eating disorders, codependence, attempts to separate oneself from the mother, the magical-plane mother-child dyad...

Ben loves Ojai oranges, mom! TWIST

I walked out to the hill behind our house which looks positively Alaskan today and it would be easier to explain this if I had a picture to show you but I was with our young dog and he was running through the tall grass like running through the tall grass is all of life together until a bird calls or he finds a beer can and that thing fills all the space in his head. You see, his mind can only hold one thought at a time and when he finally hears me call his name he looks up and his head and for a single moment my voice is everything. from Self-portrait at 28 by David Berman

To Myself BY FRANZ WRIGHT 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 and the others all around you, and the loneliness you love, and the universe that loves you specifically, maybe, and the catastrophic dawn, the nicotine crawling on your skin— and when you begin to cough I won’t cover my face, and if you vomit this time I will hold you: everything’s going to be fine I will whisper. It won’t always be like this. I am going to buy you a sandwich.

Rorschach Test BY FRANZ WRIGHT To tell you the truth I’d have thought it had gone out of use long ago; there is something so 19th-century about it, with its absurd reverse Puritanism. Can withdrawal from reality or interpersonal commitment be gauged by uneasiness at being summoned to a small closed room to discuss ambiguously sexual material with a total stranger? Alone in the presence of the grave examiner, it soon becomes clear that, short of strangling yourself, you are going to have to find a way of suppressing the snickers of an eight-year-old sex fiend, and feign cu- riosity about the process to mask your indignation at being placed in this situation. Sure, you see lots of pretty butterflies with the faces of ancient Egypt- ian queens, and so forth—you see other things, too. Flying stingray vaginas all over the place, along with a few of their male counterparts transparently camouflaged as who knows what pil- lars and swords out of the old brain’s unconscious. You keep finding yourself thinking, “God damn it, don’t tell me that isn’t a !” But after long silence come out with, “Oh, this must be Christ trying to prevent a large crowd from stoning a woman to death.” The thing to do is keep a straight face, which is hard. After all, you’re supposed to be crazy (and are probably proving it). Maybe a nudge and a chuckle or two wouldn’t hurt your case. Yes, it’s some little card game you’ve gotten yourself into this time, when your only chance is to lose. Fold, and they have got you by the balls— just like the ones you neglected to identify.

There Are Birds Here BY JAMAAL MAY For Detroit There are birds here, so many birds here is what I was trying to say when they said those birds were metaphors for what is trapped between buildings and buildings. No. The birds are here to root around for bread the girl’s hands tear and toss like confetti. No, I don’t mean the bread is torn like cotton, I said confetti, and no not the confetti a tank can make of a building. I mean the confetti a boy can’t stop smiling about and no his smile isn’t much like a skeleton at all. And no his neighborhood is not like a war zone. I am trying to say his neighborhood is as tattered and feathered as anything else, as shadow pierced by sun and light parted by shadow-dance as anything else, but they won’t stop saying how lovely the ruins, how ruined the lovely children must be in that birdless city.

I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.” - Kahlil Gibran, The Madman

my imagination and extroadinary powers of visualisation. i was pms raging, overcome with angry, angry thoughts about my partonising boss when suddenly i pictured myself lifting up my middle finger with an invisible pulley slowly in the middle of one of her offensive partonising speeches and for some reason i thought it the most hillarious scene in the world and laughed histerically for a solid ten minutes. then i proceeded to picture her during one of the same patronising speeches to a colleague whom she likes to put down by implying he is good for none other than driving the work van and i pictured him answering her with the scene from Madagascar- when the penguins hijack the van and start looking for fancy high tech functions on the dashboard and when pressing one of the buttons it speaks "the car goes VROOM VROOM". i pictured the guy telling the witch in an infantile voice "yess boss awmighty i wouldn't know a thing, i is dumbdumbdumb, i just dlive the van. cal goes VLOOOM VLOOOM. (in my mind he honks the invisible horn here)". it sounds psycho but it made me laugh like the mad pms beotch that i am. the woman is a complete ignoramus and treats everyone like we're idiots. she even uses THE LANGUAGE. i mean the type of tone and derogatory simplistic diction that wouldn't even be proper with a mentally impaired person. we're starting to loose it for real. one of my colleagues makes light of it by "practicing grammar". after every insult she gets, the moment the boss leaves, the colleague loudly recites in preeschool fashion and self-mockery: "DUMB, DUMBER, DUMBEST". it's a lot funnier in my head than written down. sigh.

it's a comedy/drama. horrible reviews. otherwise, it's military spelling for "w.t.f." exactly.

Zealous Elaine bravely ran across. NOISE

the quail couple sounds gorgeous paris!