Sunday, February 28, 2010

quoth the great beast

“Love stories are only fit for the solace of people in the insanity of puberty. No healthy adult human being can really care whether so-and-so does or does not succeed in satisfying his physiological uneasiness by the aid of some particular person or not.”
-Aleister Crowley

Saturday, February 27, 2010

quoth the madman

"After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."
— Aldous Huxley

objets trouvés

truer words

"When the artist is alive in any person… he becomes an inventive, searching, daring, self-expressing creature. He becomes interesting to other people. He disturbs, upsets, enlightens, and he opens ways for better understanding."
— Robert Henri

quoth the madman

"Rationality is precisely proportioned to the experiences in which it is disclosed. To say that there exists rationality is to say that perspectives blend, perceptions confirm each other, a meaning emerges. But it should not be set in a realm apart, transposed into absolute spirit, or into a world in the realist sense."
— Maurice Merleau-Ponty: Phenomenology of perception

quoth the madman

"You need not do anything.
Remain sitting at your table and listen.
You need not even listen, just wait.
You need not even wait,
just learn to be quiet, still and solitary.
And the world will freely offer itself to you unmasked.
It has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet."
-Franz Kafka

overheard on bourbon street

randomly heard from passers by:
Lucky Dog vendor:
Man, I know why we're having to pee so much! It's because it's colder and our bladders are shrinking.
Woman to husband:
Not just a gay, but a heroin sheep gay.
Preteen boy on cell:
(belches) Huh? (belches again, loudly) What did you say? I can't hear you, I'm burping.
Girl to friend: Whenever I get a really big booger, I feed it to the dog.
Waspy girl to gaggle of friends: You know, medium-rare is, like, totally the new medium. You know what I mean? (friends stare blankly) No, I guess you wouldn't.
Screaming deranged lesbian: Here's a 10% coupon! Thanks for the titty grope!
Drunk muscular hipster, after accidently walking into a closed store front door (shouting): Yeah, you can laugh at me now, but you won't be laughing when I take my story to Fox News, jerk-wads!
40-something woman: I'm always wondering, is it teeth or tits?
Passing teen girl on cell: Great, now my hair smells like Lucky dog.
Out of towner to friend:
I just want to let you know your hairy butt is keeping my hand very warm right now.

Friday, February 26, 2010

overheard on decatur street

Mom: "Where do you want to eat sweetheart?"
Six-year-old daughter: "I don't care....not a bar this time..."
Mom: "Ooookay, how about that place we ate at with your aunt Linda?"
Six- year old daughter: "You mean the place where she said you are just a slut?"
Mom: "No honey, she was just saying mommy was 'just in a slump'. We were talking about dating."
Six-year old daughter: "What's a 'slut' then?"
Mom: "That's when you date too much. Where did you hear that word?"
Six-year old daughter: "Judge Judy."

your bouguereau moment



APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'

-T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). -The Waste Land (excerpt)1922.

quoth the madman

“I perceived a voice from heaven which spoke to me: Although everything on earth tends toward the end, yet the bride of my son in spite of the fact that she is hard pressed in her children as well as she herself by the messengers of the Son of Perdition as well as by himself, shall by no means be annihilated however much she may be hard pressed. On the contrary she will rise at the end of time stronger and more vigorous, and more beautiful, and glorious, so that she will meet the embraces of her Loved One in a more graceful and lovely manner, and it is this that the vision which thou seest indicates in a mystical way.”

—from Hildegard Von Bingen’s Scivias


One narcissus among the ordinary beautiful
flowers, one unlike all the others! She pulled,
stooped to pull harder—
when, sprung out of the earth
on his glittering terrible
carriage, he claimed his due.
It is finished. No one heard her.
No one! She had strayed from the herd.

(Remember: go straight to school.
This is important, stop fooling around!
Don't answer to strangers. Stick
with your playmates. Keep your eyes down.)
This is how easily the pit
opens. This is how one foot sinks into the ground.

-Persephone, Falling -Rita Dove

Thursday, February 25, 2010

quoth the madman

‘Technological progress has merely provided us with more efficient means for going backwards.’ –Aldous Huxley

seven deadly sins

After Abraham Bosse

seven deadly sins

Georg Pencz -1541-


"Was sucht ihr, mächtig und gelind,
Ihr Himmelstöne mich am Staube?
[…] Die Botschaft hör’ ich wohl, allein mir fehlt der Glaube. "

"You gentle, puissant choirs of heaven, why
Do you come seeking me?
[…] For I can hear the message, but believe no longer."

Faust- Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe


As if, with beasts' eyes, angels led
The way, I slip back to your bed,
Quiet as a hooded light,
Hushed by the shadows of the night.

And then, my dark one, you shall soon
Embrace the cold beams of the moon,
Around a fresh grave, the chilling hiss
Of serpent coiled shall be my kiss.

When morning shows his livid face
Your bed shall feel my empty place,
As cold as death, till fall of night.

Others take tenderness to wife:
Dread gives away your youth and life
To me, to be bride of fright.

-Charles Baudelaire

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

quoth the madman

'Tragedy is when I cut my finger… Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.’
–Mel Brooks


From livid skies that, without end,
As stormy as your future roll,
What thoughts into your empty soul
(Answer me, libertine!) descend?

- Insatiable yet for all
That turns on darkness, doom, or dice,
I'll not, like Ovid, mourn my fall,
Chased from the Latin paradise.

Skies, torn like seacoasts by the storm!
In you I see my pride take form,
And the huge clouds that rush in streams

Are the black hearses of my dreams,
And your red rays reflect the hell,
In which my heart is pleased to dwell.

-Charles Baudelaire


O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
-William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

something horrible happened here

quoth the madman

"All that we are is the result of what we have thought. If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him. If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him."

Psalms 137:9

Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.

2 Thessalonians 2:11-12

Therefore God sends upon them a strong delusion, to make them believe what is false, so that all may be condemned who did not believe the truth but had pleasure in unrighteousness.

Deuteronomy 17:12

Anyone arrogant enough to reject the verdict of the judge or of the priest who represents the LORD your God must be put to death. Such evil must be purged from Israel.

quoth the madman

"Freethinkers are those who are willing to use their minds without prejudice and without fearing to understand things that clash with their own customs, privileges, or beliefs.
This state of mind is not common, but it is essential for right thinking… "
— Leo Tolstoy

quoth the madman

“There has to be a balance between your mental satisfaction and the financial needs of your company. I always remember that it’s the fantasy, the artistic side, that makes customers want to buy the straightforward black pants."
-Alexander McQueen

I smell the blood of les tricoteuses

666 = number of the beast
665 = older brother of the beast
660 = approximate number of the beast
66600 = zip code of the beast
1/666 = common denominator of the beast
665.95 = retail price of the beast


"Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing."
-Robert E. Howard

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

quoth the madman

"After playing Chopin, I feel as if I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own."
— Oscar Wilde

quoth the madman

"It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge."
— Friedrich Nietzsche

quoth the madman

When I was 18 I wanted to fuck on the floor and break shit. When I was 25 I wanted to fuck on the floor and break shit. When I was 35 I wanted to fuck on the floor and break shit. Now I’m 40 and I want to fuck on the floor and break shit.
— Henry Rollins

quoth the madman

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.”
-Paulo Coelho

truer words

The world is meaningless, there is no God or gods, there are no morals, the universe is not moving inexorably towards any higher purpose.
All meaning is man-made, so make your own, and make it well.
Do not treat life as a way to pass the time until you die.
Do not try to "find yourself", you must make yourself.
Choose what you want to find meaningful and live, create, love, hate, cry, destroy, fight and die for it.
Do not let your life and your values and you actions slip easily into any mold, other that that which you create for yourself, and say with conviction, "This is who I make myself"
Do not give in to false hope.
Remember that nothing you do has any significance beyond that with which imbue it.
Whatever you do, do it for its own sake.
When the universe looks on with indifference, laugh, and shout back, "Fuck You!"
Rembember that to fight meaninglessness is futile, but fight anyway, in spite of and because of its futility.
The world may be empty of meaning, but it is a blank canvas on which to paint meanings of your own.
Live deliberately.
You are free.


If you have taken this rubble for my past
raking through it for fragments you could sell
know that I long ago moved on
deeper into the heart of the matter

if you think you can grasp me, think again;
my story flows in more than one direction
a delta springing from the river bed
with its five fingers spread.
-Delta -Adrienne Rich

Monday, February 22, 2010

Feb 22 1987

Andy Warhol dead after complications from gallbladder surgery, though the details are hazy. The official cause was listed as cardiac arrhythmia, but speculation includes his fear of hospitals as well as possible Cefoxitin allergy. Warhol's death brings him a bonus 15 minutes of fame.

quoth the madman

‘The human mind has no knowledge of the body.’

despair haiku

Caress of despair
bones ache, soul shaken, yet still...
inspires wonder.