i ate polaris

i wouldn't take her to an execution, i wouldn't take her to a live sex show, i wouldn't piss or shit on her would i, because i love her so.
Apr 14
Permalink
hey babe, my book is now for sale.
Immense gratitude encompassing the area of this very solar system to the Poetry Society of America & poet Nick Flynn.

hey babe, my book is now for sale.

Immense gratitude encompassing the area of this very solar system to the Poetry Society of America & poet Nick Flynn.

(Source: aliciasalvadeo)

Apr 08
Permalink
Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.
— from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
Mar 08
Permalink

Caritas abundat in omnia, by Hildegard von Bingen

Caritas abundat in omnia, de imis excellentissima super sidera, atque amantissima in omnia, quia summo Regi osculum pacis dedit.

"Love lives in everything, from the deepest depths to the highest stars, and she is the most charming of all, because she has given the highest King the kiss of peace."

Mar 06
Permalink

terrysmalloy:

Marion Davies impersonates Mae Murray, Lillian Gish and Pola Negri in The Patsy, 1928.

Feb 23
Permalink

From ‘The Fauré Ballad,’ an “anthology of quotes, misquotes, and (no doubt) misremembered remarks” by James Schuyler

"What am I supposed to be THE POEM DOCTOR?" — Ron Padgett

"Raoul Dufy’s death in March, 1953, was like a rip in the rainbow." —Wallace Stevens

"I don’t know how a poet becomes a poet. And I don’t think anyone else does either. It is something deep and mysterious inside a person that cannot be explained. It is something that no one understands. It is something that no one will ever understand. I asked Ron Padgett once how it came about that he was a poet and he said, ‘I don’t know. It is something deep and mysterious inside of me that cannot be explained.’" —Joe Brainard

Feb 08
Permalink

"Rant," by Diane di Prima

You cannot write a single line w/out a cosmology
a cosmogony
laid out, before all eyes

there is no part of yourself you can separate out
saying, this is memory, this is sensation
this is the work I care about, this is how I
make a living

it is whole, it is a whole, it always was whole
you do not “make” it so
there is nothing to integrate, you are a presence
you are an appendage of the work, the work stems from
hangs from the heaven you create

every man / every woman carries a firmament inside
& the stars in it are not the stars in the sky

w/out imagination there is no memory
w/out imagination there is no sensation
w/out imagination there is no will, desire

history is a living weapon in yr hand
& you have imagined it, it is thus that you
"find out for yourself"
history is the dream of what can be, it is
the relation between things in a continuum

of imagination
what you find out for yourself is what you select
out of an infinite sea of possibility
no one can inhabit yr world

yet it is not lonely,
the ground of imagination is fearlessness
discourse is video tape of a movie of a shadow play
but the puppets are in yr hand
your counters in a multidimensional chess
which is divination
& strategy

the war that matters is the war against the imagination
all other wars are subsumed in it.

the ultimate famine is the starvation
of the imagination

it is death to be sure, but the undead
seek to inhabit someone else’s world

the ultimate claustrophobia is the syllogism
the ultimate claustrophobia is “it all adds up”
nothing adds up & nothing stands in for
anything else

THE ONLY WAR THAT MATTERS IS THE WAR AGAINST
                                                          THE IMAGINATION
THE ONLY WAR THAT MATTERS IS THE WAR AGAINST
                                                          THE IMAGINATION
THE ONLY WAR THAT MATTERS IS THE WAR AGAINST
                                                          THE IMAGINATION


ALL OTHER WARS ARE SUBSUMED IN IT

There is no way out of a spiritual battle
There is no way you can avoid taking sides
There is no way you can not have a poetics
no matter what you do: plumber, baker, teacher

you do it in the consciousness of making
or not making yr world
you have a poetics: you step into the world
like a suit of readymade clothes

or you etch in light
your firmament spills into the shape of your room
the shape of the poem, of yr body, of yr loves

A woman’s life / a man’s life is an allegory

Dig it

There is no way out of the spiritual battle
the war is the war against the imagination
you can’t sign up as a conscientious objector

the war of the worlds hangs here, right now, in the balance
it is a war for this world, to keep it
a vale of soul-making

the taste in all our mouths is the taste of power
and it is bitter as death

bring yr self home to yrself, enter the garden
the guy at the gate w/ the flaming sword is yrself

the war is the war for the human imagination
and no one can fight it but you/ & no one can fight it for you

The imagination is not only holy, it is precise
it is not only fierce, it is practical
men die everyday for the lack of it,
it is vast & elegant

intellectus means “light of the mind”
it is not discourse it is not even language
the inner sun

the polis is constellated around the sun
the fire is central

(Source: aliciasalvadeo)

Jan 10
Permalink
I, reduced to a word? but what word represents me. I know one thing: I am not my name. My name belongs to those who call me. But, my intimate name is: zero. It is eternal beginning permanently interrupted by my awareness of beginning.
— Clarice Lispector
Permalink

(Source: raddudes, via syn-tax)