So I guess I wrote another poem.
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So I guess I wrote another poem.
Yet even so there is but one world and everything that is imaginable is necessary to it. For this world also which seems to us a thing of stone and flower and blood is not a thing at all but a tale. And all in it is a tale and each tale the sum of all lesser tales and yet these also are the selfsame tale and contain as well as else within them. So everything is necessary. Every least thing. This is the hard lesson.
Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing
Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world: invisibly it revolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory; such is the course of things.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra
He thought that in the beauty of the world were hid a secret. He thought the world's heart beat at some terrible cost and that the world's pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.
Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
What do we do on earth? We move around and move around.
Albert Camus, Notebooks
I still remember, in my mind, how things used to be, and it makes me feel very bad. We used to sleep on the beach overnight, they don't anymore. They don’ sleep anymore on the beach.
Murray Ostril, Godspeed You Black Emperor: Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Heaven: Sleep
It’s always the idle habits you acquire which you will regret. Father said that. That Christ was not crucified: he was worn away by a minute clicking of little wheels.
William Faulkner, The Sound & The Fury
"We must have one love, one great love in our life, since it gives us an alibi for all the moments when we are filled with motiveless despair."
Albert Camus, Notebooks
F R I D A Y
We write our fate With brief dolorous script For what comes hither on the morrow Is surely more abhorrent than today
The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance bepopulate with chimeras having neither analogue nor precedent, an itinerant carnival, a migratory tentshow whose ultimate destination after many a pitch in a many a mudded field is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning.
Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian
He'd long forsworn all weighing of consequence and allowing as he did that men's destinies are given yet he usurped to contain within him all that he would ever be in the world and all that the world would be to him and be his character written in the urstone itself he claimed agency and said so and he'd drive the remorseless sun on to its final endarkenment as if he'd ordered it all ages since
Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian
A poem I wrote for a girl.
A week, in the mind so brief Has by its end rendered brown, Leaves which at its start flushed so Emerald green.
On the Morrow
I've been dwelling, on visions full of sorrow To prepare me, for where I'll be.
When you finally, resign me like the sunset When I'm left a crownless king.
Our misery, comes hither on the morrow And we will know then what we've lost
Even when you leave Still here you'll be
Ah, the prayers of the millions, how they must fight & destroy each other on their way to the throne of God.
John Steinbeck, Tortilla Flat
Nineteen is old enough to know that if you have got somethin that means the world to you it's all that more likely it'll get took away. Sixteen was, for that matter.
Cormac McCarthy, No Country For Old Men
Let Love close your eyes, Let Love open your hands, ... Let Love take you under
Josh Scogin, In