I’m going out there to show them what nobody has ever seen at an arts festival before: a representative of all the thousands of artists who devoted their entire lives to a search for truth and beauty—and didn’t find doodley-squat!
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
Nothing that I wrote yesterday is true. Only this remains – that reality interests me inasmuch as it is plastic, and that I care more – infinitely more – for what may be than for what has been. I lean with a fearful attraction over the depths of each creature’s possibilities and weep for all that lies atrophied under the heavy lid of custom and morality.
De tout ce que j’écrivais hier, rien n’est vrai. Il reste ceci : que la réalité m’intéresse comme une matièreplastique ; et j’ai plus de regard pour ce qui pourrait être, infiniment plus que pour ce qui a été. Je me penche vertigineusement sur les possibilités de chaque être et pleure tout ce que le couvercle des mœurs atrophie.
They talked about death. Hoensch said that death itself was only an illusion under permanent construction, that in reality it didn’t exist.
What a sad paradox, thought Amalfitano. Now even bookish pharmacists are afraid to take on the great, imperfect, torrential works, books that blaze paths into the unknown. They choose the perfect exercises of the great masters. Or what amounts to the same thing: they want to watch the great masters spar, but they have no interest in real combat, when the great masters struggle against something, that something that terrifies us all, that something that cows us and spurs us on, amid blood and mortal wounds and stench.
“…that a picture looks like nature often means only that it is painted the way nature is usually painted.”
No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the knife—lost
A. Ginsberg – Kaddish
It’s time get this blog back on track, a little more time and a little more summer outside. That helps. The quote above caught my eye lately. This isn’t a surprise but let’s make it clear. Allen Ginsberg has a lot more to offer than just Howl.
As I mentioned previously the Refined Quotes blog got to a place of a stagnation. Of course there are new meterial, new visits and new followers. Yet it all became too routine. It was meant to be a hunt for new ideas , however the creativity deminished slowly but steadily. In the end I’m only happy with the content and form of the ‘about’ page, which is also a manifesto that I try to follow.
The beginning of this year was great, people started comming in, I’ve added the paintings, movie frames and later the songs. Eventually I got to a point where there was a standard alogrithm for me to use, with better or worse results in attention catching, nevertheless it became an effort, a fixed procedure. The very thing hated so much by people like Burroughs or Wallace, who I openly admire from post to post.
See? Mr. Burroughs is dismayed.
<read on for all the cool stuff!->