good company

"I wasn't a misanthrope and 

I wasn't a misogynist but 

I liked being alone. 

It felt good to sit alone in a 

small space and smoke and drink. 

I had always been 

good company for myself."

― Charles Bukowski

time is the fire

"Time is the school in which we learn, 


Time is the fire in which we burn."


Delmore Schwartz

mooncake

poe the raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

The Last Flower

Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal

 Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.


By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
 

to love and say goodbye

"We the mortals touch the metals,

the wind, the ocean shores, the stones,

knowing they will go on, inert or burning,
  
and I was discovering, naming all these things:

it was my destiny to love and say goodbye."

Pablo Neruda

Beware the Jabberwock

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

.....Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll.....

t e r r o r i s t ! ! !

Just a Word

'Terrorist' is just a word, one I wish I'd never heard

When it's used to vilify, without the need to question why

Only fools would swift condemn, that which has not befallen them

Until you know what lies behind, the actions of a tortured mind

Thank your God for sparing you, the suffering others have lived through

Where are the cries of just demand, for Arabs driven from their land?

Blame the victim, turn the cheek, praise the bully, kick the weak!

Mock the man who truth does speak

Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy, greed, corruption, torture, lies!

Blair invasion, sly persuasion, annihilation, massacred nation

Keep on running, karma's coming!

Money talks, truth walks, oil spills, greed kills

Tide is turning, London's burning!

Bombs will fall and blood will flow, as sure as my own name I know

Until corrupt dictators go, brutal, rotten, to the core

Their day has come, they rule no more

Show me the man who will not fight, to save his child, his home, his right!

You can call him what you like, you're not in his sorry plight

Cowards stay and Martyrs go, I know not where, but this I know

Speak your truth and stand your ground, fight your corner

When all around, point the finger, purse the lips, pin the label, 'Terrorist'!

Just a word, but one that sticks, even when the cap don't fit

But for the grace of God go I, remember that, before you cry

False accusation, names of shame, at those who may not be to blame,

Their crime, refused to play the game, of meek acceptance, dumbing down,

Your life, your choice; Warrior / Clown

Occupation 101

endeavor

Exhale

• Exhale • 

Going through it 

The long duration of dark 

The cold winter night 

The silent day 

When will I know my reason 

When can I enter into peaceful solitude 

Life is but a blink of the eye 

A bat of the lash 

If you want to know 

I'm chasing the wind 

And will soon be mown down 

By the sharp blade 

Come on spring 

Make me new again 

I set and wait for both 

Anonymous

the creator's glory

Should guilty seek asylum here, 

Like one pardoned, he becomes free from sin. 

Should a sinner make his way to this mansion, 

All his past sins are to be washed away. 

The sight of this mansion creates sorrowing sighs; 

And the sun and the moon shed tears from their eyes. 

In this world this edifice has been made; 

To display thereby the creator's glory.

all the way

die well

Then out spake brave Horatius,

The Captain of the gate:

"To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds

For the ashes of his fathers

And the temples of his gods."

For Whom the Bell Tolls

No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee.

we burn

"Time is the school in which we learn, 


Time is the fire in which we burn."


Delmore Schwartz

mooncake

calmly we walk through this april's day

Time is the school in which we learn,

Time is the fire in which we burn.

Delmore Schwartz

trivialities

"We're all going to die, 

all of us, 

what a circus ! 

That alone should make us love each other 

but it doesn't. 

We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, 

we are eaten up by nothing." 

Bukowski

The Hollow Men

T. S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

drunken morning

how to be perfect

"How to be perfect" by Ron Padgett


get some sleep

eat an orange every morning

be friendly it will help make you happy

hope for everything...expect nothing

take care of things close to home first

straighten up your room before you save the world

then, save the world

be nice to people before they have the chance to behave badly

wear comfortable shoes

do not spend too much time with large groups of people

plan your day so you never have to rush

show your appreciation to people who do things for you

even if you have paid them...even if they do favors you don't want

after dinner wash the dishes

calm down

don't expect your children to love you so they can if they want to

don't be too self critical or too self congratulatory

don't think that progress exists...it doesn't

imagine what you would like to see happen

and then don't do anything to make it impossible

forgive your country every once in a while

if that is not possible...go to another one

if you feel tired...rest

don't be depressed about growing older

it will make you feel even older which is depressing

if you burn your finger put ice on it immediately

if you bang your finger with a hammer hold your hand in the air for twenty minutes

you'll be surprised by the curative powers of ice and gravity

do not inhale smoke...take a deep breath

do not smart off to a policeman

be good

be honest with yourself, diplomatic with others

do not go crazy a lot its a waste of time

drink plenty of water...when asked what you would like to drink say "water please"

take out the trash

love life

use exact change

when there's shooting in the street don't go near the window

(listen)