Thursday, December 31, 2009

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

I smell the blood of les tricoteuses

a lovely sort of death

overheard on toulouse street

Guy: "...I'm just saying you live in a fantasy world that's all..."
Guy#2: "So, what's the problem with that?"
Guy: "You need to deal with reality."
Guy #2: "Man, fantasy is like Febreze, we need it to spray all around us to cover the shitty stench of day to day living."
Guy: "Oooh, snap."

Tuesday, December 29, 2009


"Vanity, revenge, loneliness, boredom, all apply: lust is one of the least of the reasons for promiscuity."
~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966


“Death is patiently making my mask as I sleep. Each morning I awake to discover in the corners of my eyes the small tears of his wax.”
Philip Dow

“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.”
James Arthur Baldwin

“All great things must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity."
Friedrich Nietzsche

“The theater, bringing impersonal masks to life, is only for those who are virile enough to create new life: either as a conflict of passions subtler than those we already know, or as a complete new character.”
Alfred Jarry

“The closing years of life are like a masquerade party, when the masks are dropped”
Arthur Schopenhauer

“All of childhood's unanswered questions must finally be passed back to the town and answered there. Heroes and bogey men, values and dislikes, are first encountered and labeled in that early environment. In later years they change faces, places and maybe races, tactics, intensities and goals, but beneath those penetrable masks they wear forever the stocking-capped faces of childhood.”
Maya Angelou

“In masks outrageous and austere The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile”
Elinor Wylie

“Our masks, always in peril of smearing or cracking, in need of continuous check in the mirror or silverware, keep us in thrall to ourselves, concerned with our surfaces."
Carolyn Kizer

“The countenances of children, like those of animals, are masks, not faces, for they have not yet developed a significant profile of their own.”
W. H. Auden

"The countenances of children, like those of animals, are masks, not faces, for they have not yet developed a significant profile of their own."
W. H. Auden

"After that I could never pass a dead man without stopping to gaze on his face, stripped by death of that earthly patina which masks the living soul. And I would ask, who were you? Where was your home? Who is mourning for you now?"
Ernst Toller

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."
Oscar Wilde

“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. ...You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask."
Jim Morrison

Dec 29 1170

Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, is slashed to death by four of King Henry II's knights at the altar of the Virgin Mary. "Is there no one who will rid me from this turbulent priest", cried Henry in frustration earlier that month. It was apparently not a serious demand for Becket's death, but that did not stop his brains from being splattered in Canterbury Cathedral.

Monday, December 28, 2009

famous last words

"I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have."~~ The dysexic who invented scissiors, Leonardo da Vinci, artist, d. 1519

famous last words

"Codeine . . . bourbon...."~~ Tallulah Bankhead, actress, d. December 12, 1968

Sunday, December 27, 2009


“Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.”
— Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

gift haiku

Christmas is over.
Hope Jesus got some nice gifts
(anything but myrrh)

Saturday, December 26, 2009


“Some people need a red carpet rolled out for them in order to walk forward into friendship. They can’t see the tiny outstretched hands all around them, everywhere, like leaves on trees.”
— Miranda July - No One Belongs Here More Than You

Friday, December 25, 2009

overheard in palm beach

Son: "So....did Great Grand-mom like Christmas?"
Dad: "Oh yes. Any holiday where there was a party involved she loved it... all the way up to the end."
Son: "Did she really get bad at the end?"
Dad: Well, I am not sure what 'bad' means exactly, but even when she lost her mind completely, she still had a great time."
Son: "Did she really put on strange get-ups and start performing her old routines from when she was a Ziegfeld girl for no reason at all?"
Dad: "I love it -'get-ups'- there's a good description, and yes, she did, at the drop of a hat. Here, this is the last photo of her I have, it was right at the end when she was in her late nineties dancing with a lamp."
Son: "You are kidding me."
Dad: (sighs) "Take a good look at your future son."

santy claws

x mas

If a kid ever asks you how Santa Claus can live forever, I think a good answer is that he drinks blood.


Thursday, December 24, 2009

rinse, repeat


"What’d I care about the tower of ghouls, and sperm and bones and dust, I felt free and therefore I was free."
The Dharma Bums - Jack Kerouac


“What is a saint? A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence. A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago. I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order. It is a kind of balance that is his glory. He rides the drifts like an escaped ski. His course is the caress of the hill. His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance. Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape. His house is dangerous and finite, but he is at home in the world. He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love.”
- Beautiful Losers -Leonard Cohen


What could be more pitiful than the romantics with their sobs of aspiration? The toxic fruitage of eroticism is crisper, more silent, than the emptiest night. Inside the perimeter of Hell no walls remain against the unfathomable. Everything is calm, luxuriant, incomprehensibly desolate. The ghost of self drifts in the shallows; the fading echo from a clamour of frantic dreams. One swims effortlessly into not-one. Down beyond the mouth of the estuary the ocean awaits…
-The Thirst for Annihilation: Georges Bataille and Virulent Nihilism