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"Business in the front, party in the back."
"I like to picture Jesus in a tuxedo t-shirt, because it says, 'I want to be formal, but I'm here to party.'"
"Big time."
"Poets don't ********, they make love."
"Burn this book and go on a walk with your lover in the rain, and once you figure everything out, you write the important poems and I'll just keep writing these ones."
"Perhaps in a moment of love, you will forget everything as you dismember into a thousand little pieces of bliss like confetti, unable to do anything but say, 'My, you have beautiful elbows.'"
"Perhaps in a moment of love, you may be drunk, you may not be drunk, but you probably won't be able to tell the difference."
"Nonsense makes the most sense because there is simply no sense to be found." (Auntie Jet)
"Do you dream of flying? Then drive to work."
"'Cause with my soul I am free.
My journey's a constant dream
that ends in the ocean but starts in the stream.
My soul it so longs to be."
(Avalanche City, "Ends In the Ocean" wink
"The ice we skate
is gettin' pretty thin.
The water's gettin' warm,
so you might as well swim."
(Smash Mouth, "All Star" wink
"Life isn't about avoiding the storm; it's about learning to dance in the rain."
"Real love is like a super model before she's airbrushed." (Rudy Francisco)
"Rocking a mustache so zesty that when I do the wax paper and comb trick, it sounds like a Kenny G saxophone solo."
"I remember as a child, after losing the dice from Monopoly, my mom said: 'Just take the dice from one of the games you don’t play as much'.
Well hate to break it you, MOM, but maybe you’ve heard of the last time somebody started mixing and matching parts! His name was Frankenstein, and I’m pretty sure he killed a whole village!"
"An Abridged History of the World
I am man
I am too
I want that
Let's fight"
"He stole forsythia.
He lived for love.
He never got caught." (Jim Moore, "Epitaph" wink
"How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes" (Mumford & Sons, "Awake My Soul" wink
"A mind that is stretched to a new idea never goes back to the same dimension."
"You are never really late for a very important date...you're simply terribly early for the next♦" (Auntie Jet)
"Listen says fox it is music to run
over the hills to lick
dew from the leaves to nose along
the edges of ponds to smell the fat
ducks in their bright feathers but
far out, safe in their rafts of
sleep. It is like
music to visit the orchard, to find
the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the
rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself
is a music. Nobody has ever come close to
writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot
be told. It is flesh and bones
changing shape and with good cause, mercy
is a little child beside such an invention. It is
music to wander the black back roads
outside of town no one awake or wondering
if anything miraculous is ever going to
happen, totally dumb to the fact of every
moment's miracle. Don't think I haven't
peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons
making love, arguing, talking about God
instead of the stars, the rabbit caught
in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought
home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours."
(Mary Oliver, "Straight Talk From Fox" wink
"Penguins are like poets. They don't have sex, they make love." (Auntie Jet)
"The first generation out of slavery invented jazz music. It is a music birthed out of freedom. And that is the closest thing I know to Christian spirituality. A music birthed out of freedom. Everybody sings their song the way they feel it, everybody closes their eyes and lifts up their hands." (Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz)
"When I step into a brook
I become a brook. Fish
cannot burrow
into the soft rock
of my feet. Lying on a hillside
I become the hillside. Rain
runs from the hill that is me
and into the valley I will be
if I move. Window,
door, pathway, light: it's all
a matter of positioning. I am
always becoming
the world. We
create it every day. You know
this is true
and will always be true
whether I write these words
or go to sleep.
Whether we make love
or argue late into the night
about things
that do not matter
that will not matter
that cannot matter
unless we argue."
(Donald Caswell, "How It Works" wink
"On a summer morning
I sat down
on a hillside
to think about God--
a worthy pastime.
Near me, I saw
a single cricket;
it was moving the grains of the hillside
this way and that way.
How great was its energy,
how humble its effort.
Let us hope
it will always be like this,
each of us going on
in our inexplicable ways
building the universe."
(Mary Oliver, "Song of the Builders" wink
"I am a poet. I am not a carpenter. Sometimes I think I would rather be a carpenter, but I am not. For instance, Gene, my carpenter friend, is building a house. I drop in. He gives me a hammer and says, 'Start pounding.' I pound; we pound. I look up. 'Where's the roof?' 'I'm not that far, yet,' he says. I go and the days go by and I drop in again. The roof is up and I go and the days go by and I start a poem. I am thinking of stars and I write a poem about stars. I grab a typewriter and start pounding. Soon there are pages, acres of words about stars and the coffee is gone, so I go to a restaurant. And I buy a beer and the woman next to me tells me how she was raped by her stepfather when she was twelve, so she ran away with an ex-con who got popped again for cocaine and left her pregnant, so she married a GI and moved to Germany, where the baby died of kidney failure, so she came home to live with her mother. And I drink a lot of beers. Then I go outside and lie in a vacant lot looking up at the stars, thinking how many they are and what a wonderful poem they would make. And I fall asleep with a beer in my hand. In the morning, the beer, the stars, and my wallet are gone, so I go to see Gene, and the house is finished. A family is living there, and they show me their dog. There are flowers blooming; cabbage is cooking in the kitchen. So I go home and write another poem. And one day Gene drops in. He looks at the poem and now it is twelve poems, all neatly stacked and ready to be read and he asks, 'Where are the stars?' And I say, 'I'm not that far yet.'"
(Donald Caswell, "Why I Am a Poet" wink
"Don't call this world adorable, or useful, that's not it.
It's frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.
The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.
The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.
But the blue rain sinks, straight to the white
feet of the trees
whose mouths open.
Doesn't the wind, turning in circles, invent the dance?
Haven't the flowers moved, slowly, across Asia, then Europe,
until at last, now, they shine
in your own yard?
Don't call this world an explanation, or even an education.
When the Sufi poet whirled, was he looking
outward, to the mountains so solidly there
in a white-capped ring, or was he looking
to the center of everything: the seed, the egg, the idea
that was also there,
beautiful as a thumb
curved and touching the finger, tenderly,
little love-ring,
as he whirled,
oh jug of breath,
in the garden of dust?"
(Mary Oliver, "Where Does the Dance Begin? Where Does It End?" wink
"Fake it 'til you make it"
"A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song"
"Bare feet: get rid of the shoes, get rid of the stress"
“All the world’s a stage. You need a stage and you need a costume and you need a script. The stage is your workspace. It can be a studio, a desk, or a sketchbook. The costume is your outfit, your painting pants, or your writing slippers, or your funny hat that gives you ideas. The script is just plain old time. An hour here, or an hour there. A script for a play is just time measured out for things to happen.” (Austin Kleon, "How To Steal Like An Artist" wink
"Advice is a vice"
"All advice is autobiographical"
"Love is not irritable"
(Tony Dungy)
 Butterzworth · Wed Apr 13, 2011 @ 12:30am · 0 Comments |
