F*** them is what I say! I hate those eBooks. They cannot be the future; they may well be. I will be dead! I won’t give a s***!
— Maurice Sendak (1928-2012) on eBooks, on The Colbert Report. (via washingtonpoststyle)
(via someonetraveling)
Top five regrets of the dying
- I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
- I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
- I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
- I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
- I wish that I had let myself be happier.
(Source: nevver, via someonetraveling)
Well, this is about as close to a motivational poster as I’ll ever get.
Keep moving right, everybody. We can do it.
Yestercade’s - Red Bank, NJ.
Submitted by JCJ
(via:arcadenation)
Daniel Johnston - Milwaukee
“beauty gone” by Charles Bukowski (Poetry Month)
you were, at best
the delicate thought of a delicate hand
and when
beneath the love of flowers I am still and gone-
as the spider drinks the greening hour-
strike grey bells,
let a frog say
a voice is dead;
let the beasts of the forest,
the days that have hated this,
the contrary wives of unblinking grief
plan a small surrender somewhere
between Mexicali and Tampa;
you gone, cigarettes smoked, loaves sliced,
and lest this be taken for wry sorrow:
put the spider in the wine,
crack the thin skull that held poor lightning,
make it all less than a treacherous kiss,
and put me down for the last dance
you much more dead than I:
I am a dish for your ashes,
I am a fist for your air.
the most immense thing about beauty
is finding it gone.
(Source: books.google.com)
“M. Degas Teaches Art And Science At Durfee Intermediate School—detroit1942” by Philip Levine (Poetry Month)
He made a line on the blackboard,
one bold stroke from right to left
diagonally downward and stood back
to ask, looking as always at no one
in particular, “What have I done?”
From the back of the room Freddie
shouted, “You’ve broken a piece
of chalk.” M. Degas did not smile.
“What have I done?” he repeated.
The most intellectual students
looked down to study their desks
except for Gertrude Bimmler, who raised
her hand before she spoke. “M. Degas,
you have created the hypotenuse
of an isosceles triangle.” Degas mused.
Everyone knew that Gertrude could not
be incorrect. “It is possible,”
Louis Warshowsky added precisely,
“that you have begun to represent
the roof of a barn.” I remember
that it was exactly twenty minutes
past eleven, and I thought at worst
this would go on another forty
minutes. It was early April,
the snow had all but melted on
the playgrounds, the elms and maples
bordering the cracked walks shivered
in the new winds, and I believed
that before I knew it I’d be
swaggering to the candy store
for a Milky Way. M. Degas
pursed his lips, and the room
stilled until the long hand
of the clock moved to twenty one
as though in complicity with Gertrude,
who added confidently, “You’ve begun
to separate the dark from the dark.”
I looked back for help, but now
the trees bucked and quaked, and I
knew this could go on forever.
(Source: ibiblio.org)
