Sweet Darkness 

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb
tonight.
The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.
You must learn one thing:
the world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.


-david white

Stendhal Syndrome

" ... a psychosomatic illness that causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations when an individual is exposed to art, usually when the art is particularly beautiful or a large amount of art is in a single place. The term can also be used to describe a similar reaction to a surfeit of choice in other circumstances, e.g. when confronted with immense beauty in the natural world."

....http://www.frieze.com/issue/article/the_shock_of_the_old/

Nine drawings

LSD + Art

http://www.cowboybooks.com.au/html/acidtrip1.html

Yes.

alice

i want to do with you what spring does to the cherry trees

t

• Pooh: this is the best part of the day
• Christopher Robin: what part is that?
• Pooh: when "you" and "me" become "we"

Searching

Katy needs...

-to put her ego in check.

-rescue to get out alive (and that's just the bathroom stall)

-to understand that her outlook could negatively affect the performance of her department.

-adjustments

-a level table or surface to put papermaking equipment on

-to wear a ball gown

-to stop going to so many anime conventions...

-a pony

-to be inspiring in order to be productive

-full sun with a rich wet soil mix

Emma needs...

-a belt rather badly

-a real man

-a love song (I am going to sing to her)

-You

-a loving owner

- to learn to wear her bra!

-to finish her dvar torah!!

-to change my headlight at lunch

-to tell you something.

-no sidekicks

-an icepack

My tears are milagros

Monsters are the best

"There's a stream that runs up in the rockies and it runs into a bigger stream and finally makes it's way to a river but never the ocean and I was thinking about being whole again and that you don't have to make it to the ocean to be whole again maybe you freeze and become a snow witch or maybe a sandwich and melt away and that's o.k. i think."

I keep telling this story-different people, different places, different times-but always you, always me, always this story, because a story is a tightrope between two worlds.

walk with me, hand in hand through the neon and styrofoam. walk the razor blades and the broken hearts. walk the fortune and the fortune hunted. walk the chop suey bars and the tract of stars.

i know i am a fool, hoping dirt and glory are both a kind of luminous paint; the humiliations and exaltations that light us up. i see like a bug, everything too large, the pressure of infinity hammering at my head. but how else to live, vertical that i am, pressed down and pressing up simultaneously? i cannot assume you will understand me. it is just as likely that as i invent what i want to say, you will invent what you want to hear. some story we must have. stray words on crumpled paper. a weak signal into the outer space of each other.

the probability of separate worlds meeting is very small. the lure of it is immense. we send starships. we fall in love.

Sunrise Stay Curious

‘only connect’

"Every human being is a puppet on strings, but the strings do not ascend to some anonymous Maker, but are glistening golden strands that connect one puppet to another. Each strand is sensitive to the vibrations of every other strand. Every vibration sings in not only one heart, but in the hearts of many, so that if you listen carefully, you can hear a low hum as of many hearts singing together…When a strand snaps, when it breaks for love, or lack of love, or from hatred, or from pain…every other connected strand feels it, and every other connected heart feels it — and since every strand and every heart are, in theory, connected, even if at their most distant limits, this means the effect is universal. All through the darkness where shining strings are the only light, a woundedness occurs. And this hurt affects each strand and each of us in a different way, because we all hurt and are hurt. And all the strings shimmer on regardless, and all of our actions, no matter how small, have consequences to others…"

from Shriek: An Afterword, Jeff VanderMeer

Clown in the Moon

My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

-Dylan Thoma

Ancient Writing like the Sea

In Dream
anna achmatova

Black and enduring separation
I share equally with you.
Why weep? Give me your hand,
Promise me you will come again.
You and I are like high mountains
and we can't move closer.
Just send me word,
At midnight sometime through the stars.

Pixies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time. They are, however, allowed to change, only it must be a complete change.

In Southeast Asian mythology, the Nagas are serpents considered to be rain givers and guardians of the water and of the riches of the deep. They carry a precious jewel in their foreheads.
The daughter of the Nagas is Naga Kanya, whose upper body is human and lower body that of a snake. She is the Goddess of the Three Realms and pours her blessings of water on these worlds. She brings the Ultimate Treasure, represented by the diamond-pattern on the back of a cobra's hood and by the jewel embedded in Kanya's forehead. Naga Kanya is protector of the Law of Dharma. She is a gate-keepter, protecting thresholds and temple doors; she guards underwater treasure and spiritual knowledge. She is often presented holding a conch shell, representing the sound current which carries forth her water blessings.

'The big problem when you're an artist is that the times of creation don't come often. Most of the time I stay here in my studio and groan, and after that I go to my room, look at the TV."

Texture of Life

Tenderness towards oneself is incredibly sweet. Though you crave gentleness - and everyone does - the sweetness can be hard to take. It seeps right through the protective crust, all the way down to the core. Your whole being, body included, softens in that sweet nurturance, and the frozen, untouched places deep inside begin to thaw. As you melt, don't be surprised if tears seep out as well. Cherish the tears. They are the water of your soul.

With the soft touch of inner compassion, the texture of outer life softens as well, and the world suddenly seems more compassionate too. Your belly and chest breathe more freely and you have softened into your core. You begin to live from the inside out, so you are bathed in your own atmosphere no matter where you go. With every breath you drink in the sweetness and your entire body is saturated with tender joy. Without any effort or abstract rule, tender joy for others bleeds through. Sensing this, people respond in kind, and even chance meetings in the market or street can be rich with heart. You are permeable, connected and available for life. You have melted into the stream of love that pulses through every body, the unchanging reality behind the changing shapes. Like a river pulled toward the ocean, you glide into deeper waters, the eternal now beneath the passage of time. Slowly, quietly, tenderly, you slide home.

Your Passion, Pleasure, and Inner Peace"
© Camille Maurine & Lorin Roche, Ph.D. (HarperOne, 2001)

Say I Am You

I am dust particles in sunlight,
I am the round sun.

To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.

I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.
I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.

Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.

I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.

The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of stone, a flickering
in metal. Both candle,
and the moth crazy around it.
Rose, and the nightingale
lost in the fragrance.

I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift,
and the falling away.

What is, and what isn’t.

You who know Jelaluddin,
You the one in all, say who I am.
Say I am You.

-Rumi

http://vimeo.com/channels/tomoveyou

I tried to build an igloo out of orange peel but it kept falling down and even when it stood up I didn't have an eskimo to put in it, so I had to invent a story about 'How Eskimo Got Eaten', which made me even more miserable. It's always the same with diversions; you get involved

"The probability of separate worlds meeting is very small. The lure of it is immense. We send starships. We fall in love."

"What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don't want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don't want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you."
— Jeanette Winterson

Lies 1: There is only the present and nothing to remember.
Lies 2: Time is a straight line.
Lies 3: The difference between the past and the future is that one has happened while the other has not.
Lies 4: We can only be in one place at a time.
Lies 5: Any proposition that contains the word "finite" (the world, the universe, experience, ourseleves...)
Lies 6: Reality as something which can be agreed upon.
Lies 7: Reality as truth.

All times can be inhabited, all places be visited. In a single day the mind can make a millpond of the oceans. Some people who never have crossed the land they were born on have travelled all over the world. The journey is not linear, it is always back and forth, denying the calendar, the wrinkles and lines of the body. The self is not contained in any moment or any place, but it is only in the intersection of moment and place that the self might, for a moment, be seen vanishing through a door, which disappears at once. (p. 80)

from: Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson

It is not so much light that falls over the world
spreading inside your body its suffocating snow,
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
as if you were on fire from within.

Under your skin the moon is alive

Neruda. Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks

All these fellows were there inside when she entered
utterly naked.
They΄d been drinking and began to spit at her,
recently come from the river, she understood nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way,
the taunts flowed over her glistening flesh
Obscenities drenched her golden breasts.

A stranger to tears, she did not weep,
A stranger to clothes, she did not dress.
They pocked her with cigarette ends and with burnt corks
And rolled on the tavern floor in raucous laughter
She did not speak, since speech was unknown to her
Her eyes were the colour of far away love
Her arms were matching topazes
Her lips moved soundlessly in coral light
And ultimately she left by that door
Hardly had she entered the river than she was cleansed
Gleaming once more like a white stone in the rain
And without a backward look, she swam once more
Swam towards nothingness, swam to her dawn.