ADAM FLYNN

We’re solarpunks because the only other options are denial or despair.

SAMUEL R. DELANY
Dhalgren

Babes, I am so bored here that I don’t think, since I’ve come, I’ve ever been more than three minutes away from some really astonishing act of violence.

EZRA POUND - "Cantico Del Sole"

The thought of what America would be like
If the Classics had a wide circulation
     &nbs p; Troubles my sleep,
The thought of what America,
The thought of what America,The thought of what America would be like
If the Classics had a wide circulation
     &nbs p;Troubles my sleep.
Nunc dimittis, now lettest thou thy servant,
Now lettest thou thy servant
       Depart in peace.
The thought of what America,
The thought of what America,
The thought of what America would be like
If the Classics had a wide circulation...
     & nbsp; Oh well!
       It troubles my sleep.

RICHARD ADAMS
Watership Down

At that instant a dazzling claw of lightning streaked down the length of the sky. The hedge and the distant trees seemed to leap forward in the brilliance of the flash. Immediately upon it came the thunder: a high, tearing noise, as though some huge thing were being ripped to pieces close above, which deepened and turned to enormous blows of dissolution. Then the rain fell like a waterfall. In a few seconds the ground was covered with water and over it, to a height of inches, rose a haze formed of a myriad minute splashes. Stupefied with the shock, unable even to move, the sodden rabbits crouched inert, almost pinned to the earth by the rain.

MARGARET ATWOOD
The Blind Assassin

The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself. You must see the writing as emerging like a long scroll of ink from the index finger of your right hand; you must see your left hand erasing it.

GROUCHO MARX

I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal.

JAMES DICKEY

A poet has got to find some way to love that white empty page, those words he hasn’t said yet.

TOMAS TRANSTRÖMER
“The Indoors Is Endless”

It’s spring in 1827, Beethoven
hoists his death-mask and sails off.

The grindstones are turning in Europe’s windmills.
The wild geese are flying northwards.

Here is the north, here is Stockholm
swimming palaces and hovels.

The logs in the royal fireplace
collapse from Attention to At Ease.

Peace prevails, vaccine and potatoes,
but the city wells breathe heavily.

Privy barrels in sedan chairs like paschas
are carried by night over the North Bridge.

The cobblestones make them stagger
mamselles loafers gentlemen.

Implacably still, the sign-board
with the smoking blackamoor.

So many islands, so much rowing
with invisible oars against the current!

The channels open up, April May
and sweet honey dribbling June.

The heat reaches islands far out.
The village doors are open, except one.

The snake-clock’s pointer licks the silence.
The rock slopes glow with geology’s patience.

It happened like this, or almost.
It is an obscure family tale

about Erik, done down by a curse
disabled by a bullet through the soul.

He went to town, met an enemy
and sailed home sick and grey.

Keeps to his bed all that summer.
The tools on the wall are in mourning.

He lies awake, hears the woolly flutter
of night moths, his moonlight comrades.

His strength ebbs out, he pushes in vain
against the iron-bound tomorrow.

And the God of the depths cries out of the depths
‘Deliver me! Deliver yourself!’

All the surface action turns inwards.
He’s taken apart, put together.

The wind rises and the wild rose bushes
catch on the fleeing light.

The future opens, he looks into
the self-rotating kaleidoscope

sees indistinct fluttering faces
family faces not yet born.

By mistake his gaze strikes me
as I walk around here in Washington

among grandiose houses where only  
every second column bears weight.

White buildings in crematorium style
where the dream of the poor turns to ash.

The gentle downward slope gets steeper
and imperceptibly becomes an abyss.

DŌGEN

If you cannot find the truth right where you are, where else do you expect to find it?

LYSANDER SPOONER

There is not, in the Constitution, a syllable that implies that persons, born within the territorial limits of the United States, have allegiance imposed upon them on account of their birth in the country, or that they will be judged by any different rule, on the subject of treason, than persons of foreign birth.

[Photographer unknown to me.]

SAMUEL BECKETT
Malone Dies

Misfortunes, blessings, I have no time to pick my words, I am in a hurry to be done. And yet no, I am in no hurry.

ALDOUS HUXLEY
Ape and Essence

Love casts out fear; but conversely fear casts out love. And not only love. Fear also casts out intelligence, casts out goodness, casts out all thought of beauty and truth. What remains in the bum or studiedly jocular desperation of one who is aware of the obscene Presence in the corner of the room and knows that the door is locked, that there aren’t any windows. And now the thing bears down on him. He feels a hand on his sleeve, smells a stinking breath, as the executioner’s assistant leans almost amorously toward him.

“Your turn next, brother. Kindly step this way.”

And in an instant his quiet terror is transmuted into a frenzy as violent as it is futile. There is no longer a man among his fellow men, no longer a rational being speaking articulately to other rational beings; there is only a lacerated animal, screaming and struggling in the trap. For in the end fear casts out even a man’s humanity.

And fear, my good friends, fear is the very basis and foundation of modern life. Fear of the much touted technology which, while it raises our standard of living, increases the probability of our violently dying. Fear of the science which takes away the one hand even more than what it so profusely gives with the other. Fear of the demonstrably fatal institutions for while, in our suicidal loyalty, we are ready to kill and die. Fear of the Great Men whom we have raised, and by popular acclaim, to a power which they use, inevitably, to murder and enslave us. Fear of the war we don’t want yet do everything we can to bring about.

MADNESS
“Grey Day”

When I get home it’s late at night,
I’m black and bloody from my life,
I haven’t time to clean my hands,
Cuts will only sting me through my dreams.

It’s well past midnight as I lie
In a semi-conscious state.
I dream of people fighting me
Without any reason I can see.

In the morning I awake,
My arms my legs my body aches,
The sky outside is wet and grey
So begins another weary day.
So begins another weary day.

After eating I go out,
People passing by me shout.
I can’t stand this agony
Why don’t they talk to me?

In the park I have to rest
I lie down and I do my best,
The rain is falling on my face
I wish I could sink without a trace.

In the morning I awake,
My arms my legs my body aches,
The sky outside is wet and grey,
So begins another weary day.
So begins another weary day.

In the park I have to rest
I lie down and I do my best,
The rain is falling on my face
I wish I could sink without a trace.

In the morning I awake,
My arms my legs my body aches,
The sky outside is wet and grey,
So begins another weary day.
So begins another weary day.


Songwriters: Cathal Joseph Smyth / Christopher John Foreman / Daniel Mark Woodgate / Graham Mcpherson / Lee Jay Thompson / Mark William Bedford / Michael Barson

PETER ACKROYD

And when I was young, did I ever tell you, I always wanted to get inside a book and never come out again? I loved reading so much I wanted to be a part of it, and there were some books I could have stayed in for ever.

A. A. MILNE
Winnie-the-Pooh

Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That’s the problem.

Child in a Planet of the Apes costume for Halloween, New York, circa 1974-1978, photo by Larry Racioppo (New York Public Library).

W. H. AUDEN
“The More Loving One”

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

TOM WAITS
“Strange Weather”

Will you take me across the channel
London Bridge is falling down
Strange a woman tries to save
More than a man will try to drown

And it’s the rain that they predicted
It’s the forecast every time
The rose has died because you picked it
I believe that brandy’s mine

And all over the world
Strangers talk only about the weather
All over the world
It’s the same
It’s the same

And the world is getting flatter
And the sky is falling all around
Oh and nothing is the matter
For I’ll never cry in town

And a love like ours my dear
Is best measured when it’s down
And I never buy umbrellas
Cause there’s always one around

And all over the world
Strangers talk only about the weather
All over the world
It’s the same
It’s the same

And you know that it’s the beginning
And you know that it’s the end
Once again we are strangers
As the fog goes rolling in

And all over the world
Strangers talk only about the weather
All over the world
It’s the same
It’s the same
It’s the same

HENRY DAVID THOREAU

Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves.

THE TALLEST MAN ON EARTH
“Troubles Will Be Gone”

Oh, when it’s god I see in headlights kneeling down on frozen highways
And salvation in white knuckles on a wheel
And the deer is in the audience by the border of the darkness
Where forgiveness grows and slowly winds away

Well there’s a question somewhere asked with all the answers inside
But I’ll never find the kid before she’s gone
Well the day is never done, but there’s a light on where you’re sleeping
So I hope somewhere that troubles will be gone

But now the ghost is in my jacket and my stairs were built in anger
Winding forcefully but end up where I stand
But there are no rocks or salt and nails, I low my cannons not to kill you
Simply lost the words to tell you I’m afraid

And there’s a sign up to a hill to see the far of the land
Well the sign will tell you, “Turn if there’s a one”
Still the day is never done, but there’s a light on where you’re sleeping
So I hope somewhere that troubles will be gone

Oh darling, when it’s you I see in headlights, driving down the golden highway
And salvation in the beauty of some brace
And the deer is gone without me to the valley of surrender
There is still another world along it’s tracks

But there’s that sign up to a hill to see the far of the land
Well the sign will say, “There’s still a higher one”
And now the day is slowly setting, and the lights on where you’re sleeping
So I hope somewhere that troubles will be gone

T'AO CH'IEN

Unsettled, a bird lost from the flock –
Keeps flying by itself in the dusk.
Back and forth, it has no resting place,
Night after night, more anguished its cries.
Its shrill sound yearns for the pure and distant –
Coming from afar, how anxiously it flutters!

It chances to find a pine tree growing all apart;
Folding its wings, it has come home at last.
In the gusty wind there is no dense growth;
This canopy alone does not decay.
Having found a perch to roost on,
In a thousand years it will not depart.

BONNIE 'PRINCE' BILLY
“The Seedling”

I go out back to look up at her
Smiling unluckily at my red fur
And into my own I meld my nose
My full-sized child is fully unclothed

Birdies say I got no children, birdies never know
In my hidden life I’ve made a seedling grow

When it is cold I shelter her in
The wazimy warmth of the monkey skin
And into my own I fold my head
My full-sized child with full-sized spread

Birdies say I got no children, birdies never know
In my hidden life I’ve made a seedling grow

Hawks and doves and power fists
Black hand gripping our kid’s wrists
Lanterns and arrows and little monk fish
They grant my every child wish

And birdies say I got no children, birdies never know
In my hidden life I’ve made a seedling grow
Birdies say I got no children, birdies never know
In my hidden life I’ve made a seedling grow

SAMUEL R. DELANY

The only important elements in any society are the artistic and the criminal, because they alone, by questioning the society’s values, can force it to change.

DAVID LYNCH

It’s a joke to think that a film is going to mean anything if somebody else fiddles with it.

ANNE CARSON
“Town of the Sound of a Twig Breaking”

Their faces I thought were knives.
The way they pointed them at me.
And waited.
A hunter is someone who listens.
So hard to his prey it pulls the weapon.
Out of his hand and impales.
Itself.

TIMOTHY DONNELLY“The Endless”

I saw a yellow butterfly
flying
in my opinion
the wrong way, flying across
the sound
to Connecticut

I saw a cormorant
oily-looking
flying
close to the sea’s surface
precisely
as I floated on it on

my back in
the attitude of the crucifixion
minerals in my body
in
conversation with
the minerals of the sea

about the sun
how can I possibly
add
to what’s already been said
so well
by the ancients

and said with
an austerity I’ll never
know
it is an honor to take
a backseat to the ancients
who knew how

I was a fat white fish
dissolving
under the sold-out stadium sun
like a god
but like a god
I could live through anything.

WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth. We are happy when we are growing.

ZBIGNIEW HERBERT - “A Ballad That We Do Not Perish”

Those who sailed at dawn
but will never return
left their trace on a wave—

a shell fell to the bottom of the sea
beautiful as lips turned to stone

those who walked on a sandy road
but could not reach the shuttered windows
though they already saw the roofs—

they have found shelter in a bell of air

but those who leave behind only
a room grown cold a few books
an empty inkwell white paper—

in truth they have not completely died
their whisper travels through thickets of wallpaper
their level head still lives in the ceiling

their paradise was made of air
of water lime and earth an angel of wind
will pulverize the body in its hand
they will be
carried over the meadows of this world

MARK HADDON from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.

COCOROSIE - “South 2nd”

We don’t need no baseball bats
We don’t need no silver ghats
But we’re gonna fight tonight
Put up your dukes and fight
Big brother’s just standing on the side
Watching you flex your pride
But you know if they all jump in
Big brother’s got your skin

The ice cream truck it sings no more
All the kids from school are keeping score
You swing and you duck and you hit the floor
But you gotta get up at least once more
Mama comes screaming down the stairs
Everybody looks but nobody scares
Mama can’t believe that nobody care
It’s her baby boy how do they dare
Mama says bitch come over here
If you’re so tough you’ll have no fear
But why’s you bring your friends
And the whole damn school
To watch my baby boy go down like a fool

But brother says mama they’re the same damn size
Got to let him grow up and get street wise
But mama says baby go get that bat
And come back down and beat some ass

Somebody’s baby boy ain’t coming home tonight
Somebody’s baby boy ain’t coming home tonight
Somebody’s baby boy ain’t coming home tonight

One wrong move and it’ll be too late
Mama won’t be making no birthday cake
It all went down one afternoon
In Brooklyn

MANLY P. HALL from The Secret Teachings Of All Ages

To live in the world without becoming aware of the meaning of the world is like wandering about in a great library without touching the books.

". . . a sharp blow from a cold spoon is the best way to tame an unwelcome erection . . ."

THOMAS PYNCHON
Gravity’s Rainbow

There is no real direction here, neither lines of power nor cooperation. Decisions are never really made — at best they manage to emerge, from a chaos of peeves, whims, hallucinations and all around assholery.

WANG WEI“Bamboo Cottage”

Alone in the dense bamboo, I sit
playing my lute, humming along.

Lost to this world, who will notice
but the bright moon shining?

ROBERT BLY

To be wild is not to be crazy or psychotic. True wildness is a love of nature, a delight in silence, a voice free to say spontaneous things, and an exuberant curiosity in the face of the unknown.

CONFRONTING THE WITCH

Edd Cartier