2010

23-06-2010

“Some people spend their entire lives reading but never get beyond reading the words on the page, they don't understand that the words are merely stepping stones placed across a fast-flowing river, and the reason they're there is so that we can reach the farther shore, it's the other side that matters.”
—Jose Saramago

27-06-2010

El otro yo

Se trataba de un muchacho corriente: en los pantalones se le formaban rodilleras, leía historietas, hacía ruido cuando comía, se metía los dedos a la naríz, roncaba en la siesta, se llamaba Armando Corriente en todo menos en una cosa: tenía Otro Yo.

El Otro Yo usaba cierta poesía en la mirada, se enamoraba de las actrices, mentía cautelosamente , se emocionaba en los atardeceres. Al muchacho le preocupaba mucho su Otro Yo y le hacía sentirse imcómodo frente a sus amigos. Por otra parte el Otro Yo era melancólico, y debido a ello, Armando no podía ser tan vulgar como era su deseo.

Una tarde Armando llegó cansado del trabajo, se quitó los zapatos, movió lentamente los dedos de los pies y encendió la radio. En la radio estaba Mozart, pero el muchacho se durmió. Cuando despertó el Otro Yo lloraba con desconsuelo. En el primer momento, el muchacho no supo que hacer, pero después se rehizo e insultó concienzudamente al Otro Yo. Este no dijo nada, pero a la mañama siguiente se habia suicidado.

Al principio la muerte del Otro Yo fue un rudo golpe para el pobre Armando, pero enseguida pensó que ahora sí podría ser enteramente vulgar. Ese pensamiento lo reconfortó.

Sólo llevaba cinco días de luto, cuando salió la calle con el proposito de lucir su nueva y completa vulgaridad. Desde lejos vio que se acercaban sus amigos. Eso le lleno de felicidad e inmediatamente estalló en risotadas . Sin embargo, cuando pasaron junto a él, ellos no notaron su presencia. Para peor de males, el muchacho alcanzó a escuchar que comentaban: «Pobre Armando.Y pensar que parecía tan fuerte y saludable».

El muchacho no tuvo más remedio que dejar de reír y, al mismo tiempo, sintió a la altura del esternón un ahogo que se parecía bastante a la nostalgia. Pero no pudo sentir auténtica melancolía, porque toda la melancolía se la había llevado el Otro Yo.
-Mario Benedetti

30-06-2010

The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it.
—George Bernard Shaw

06-07-2010

A belligerent state permits itself every such misdeed, every such act of violence, as would disgrace the individual.
—Sigmund Freud

09-07-2010

Anybody who comes to the cinema is bringing they're whole sexual history, their literary history, their movie literacy, their culture, their language, their religion, whatever they've got. I can't possibly manipulate all of that, nor do I want to.
-David Cronenberg

11-07-2010

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer.
—William S. Burroughs

13-07-2010
“It is wrong to think that the task of physics is to find out how Nature is. Physics concerns what we say about Nature.”
—Niels Bohr

Boredom is the root of all evil - the despairing refusal to be oneself.
—Soren Kierkegaard

Practise what you know, and it will help to make clear what now you do not know.
—Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn

16-07-2010

Freedom for the Mind
High walls and huge the body may confine,
And iron grates obstruct the prisoner's gaze,
And massive bolts may baffle his design,
And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways:
Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control!
No chains can bind it, and no cell enclose:
Swifter than light, it flies from pole to pole,
And, in a flash, from earth to heaven it goes!
It leaps from mount to mount—from vale to vale
It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers;
It visits home, to hear the fireside tale,
Or in sweet converse pass the joyous hours.
'T is up before the sun, roaming afar,
And, in its watches, wearies every star!
-Emerson
(ich habe keine Ahnung warum unter dem Poem "Emerson" steht, denn es ist von William Lloyd Garrison )

23-07-2010

Every Indian outbreak that I have ever known has resulted from broken promises and broken treaties by the government.
—Buffalo Bill

31-07-2010

If the machine of government is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law.
—Henry David Thoreau


The squirrel that you kill in jest, dies in earnest.
—Henry David Thoreau

01-08-2010

I just trust people and they sense everything's gonna be alright.
—Gregory Corso
Das Zitat ist aus einem Interview, dass Gavin Selerie 1982 geführt hat:

GS: What do you mean exactly by the phrase "in abandon"?

GC: When I let it all go, I don't give a fuck what happens. I just trust people and they sense everything's gonna be alright. They know who the fuck I am already, take it easy 'cause I don't hurt anybody. I don't expect to be hurt, so I'm not. That was the last shot they laid on me in prison–being when you talk to two, make sure you see three, same as if you talk to one, make sure you see two, and so on. So that's the upbringing. Now, twenty years old, I come out and I go back to Greenwich Village. Now, of course, I'm a wealthy man.

Quelle

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Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion.
—Jack Kerouac


How fortunate for governments that the people they administer don't think.
—Adolf Hitler

06-08-2010

Worse than not realizing the dreams of your youth, would be to have been young and never dreamed at all.
—Jean Genet

10-08-2010

The greatest enemy of individual freedom is the individual himself.
—Saul Alinsky

13-08-2010

A man may devote himself to death and destruction to save a nation; but no nation will devote itself to death and destruction to save mankind.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

15-08-2010

THE GREATER CATS

The greater cats with golden eyes
Stare out between the bars.
Deserts are there, and the different skies,
And night with different stars.
They prowl the aromatic hill,
And mate as fiercely as they kill,
To roam, to live, to drink their fill;
But this beyond their wit know I:
Man loves a little, and for long shall die.

Their kind across the desert range
Where tulips spring from stones,
Not knowing they will suffer change
Or vultures pick their bones.
Their strength's eternal in their sight,
They overtake the deer in flight,
And in their arrogance they smite;
But I am sage, if they are strong:
Man's love is transient as his death is long.

Yet oh what powers to deceive!
My wit is turned to faith,
And at this moment I believe
In love, and scout at death.
I came from nowhere, and shall be
Strong, steadfast, swift, eternally:
I am a lion, a stone, a tree,
And as the Polar star in me
Is fixed my constant heart on thee.
Ah, may I stay forever blind
With lions, tigers, leopards, and their kind.
—Vita Sackville-West

18-08-2010

Silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing.
—William S. Burroughs

20-08-2010

SIMPLE QUESTIONS
Are these birds or caravans
swimming through the air?
Neither the blueness nor those seated on beds in warm rooms will say.
Are these houses in a mirage or Bedouins
fleeing from ancient winds?
The sand and foxes alert for centuries will follow their trails.
Are these shadows of a city or a quavering flute?
A scene and visions emerge from its darkness.
—Ashur Atwebi


EAST OF CARTHAGE: AN IDYLL
Look here, Marcus Aurelius, we’ve come to see
your temple, deluded the guards, crawled through a hole
in the fence. Why your descendent, my guide and friend
has opted for secrecy, I don’t know. But I do know
what to call the Africans, passport-less, yellow-eyed
who will ride the boat before me for Naples, they hope.
Here the sea curls its granite lip at them and flings a winter
storm like a cough, or the seadog drops them at Hannibal’s
shores, where they’ll stand stupefied like his elephants.
What dimension of time will they cross as the Hours loop
tight plastic ropes round their ankles and wrists?
What siren song will the trucks shipping them back
to Ouagadougou drone into their ears? I look at them
loitering, waiting for the second act of their darkness
to fall. I look at the sky shake her dicey fists.
One can be thankful, I suppose, for not being one of them,
and wrap the fabric of that thought around oneself
to keep the cold wind at bay. But what world is this
that makes our lives sufficient even as the horizon’s rope
is about to snap, while the sea and sky ache to become
a moment to peel itself like skin off fruit, and let us in
on its sweetness as we wait, smoking or fondling provisions,
listening to the engine’s invocational purr. In an hour
that will dawn and dusk at once, one that will stretch
into days strung like beads on the horizon’s throat,
they will ride their tormented ship as the dog star
begins to float on the water, so bright and still,
you’d want to scoop it out in the palm of your hand.
—Khaled Mattawa

22-08-2010

REMEMBER ME
When my day comes and I'm gone
To the place where I truly belong
Don't cry for me, wish I'm still here
Just smile everytime you remember me,
To those who share my tears and joy
Kept memories that can't be destroyed
Never let your eyes fool you and weep
Just be happy everytime you remember me,
I have nothing to give in this world
Except some words that I wrote
Wanting from you all when you read
just feel joy every time you remember me,
Time will make some people forget
As if we hadn't even met
In a dark grave I will be
While few people are remembering me.
—Mirna Riad

23-08-2010

Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure--
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one--
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table--
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandanna
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
—Billy Collins


'I know I am but summer to your heart'
I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the full four seasons of the year;
And you must welcome from another part
Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear.
No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell
Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing;
And I have loved you all too long and well
To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring.
Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes,
I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums,
That you may hail anew the bird and rose
When I come back to you, as summer comes.
Else will you seek, at some not distant time,
Even your summer in another clime.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay

02-09-2010

The study of thinking machines teaches us more about the brain than we can learn by introspective methods. Western man is externalizing himself in the form of gadgets.
—William S. Burroughs

09-09-2010

The tendency to turn human judgments into divine commands makes religion one of the most dangerous forces in the world.
—Georgia Harkness


All religions are founded on the fear of the many and the cleverness of the few.
—Stendhal

10-09-2010

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer.
—William S. Burroughs

13-09-2010


Words
Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.
—Anne Sexton

15-09-2010

It must require an inordinate share of vanity and presumption, too, after enjoying so much that is good and beautiful on earth, to ask the Lord for immortality in addition to it all.
—Heinrich Heine

17-09-2010

Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception.
— Mark Twain (from The Mysterious Stranger, 1916)