Press play above to watch short film mats of flower lava (:29)
What I’m Reading:
“Maybe what I want when I go out in nature is not to see it, but to be seen by it. To receive anointment.”
— Ben Shattuck / Six Walks: In the Footsteps of Henry David Thoreau
“Suffering is a part of the human condition and must be borne. But misery is a choice.”
— Cormac McCarthy / The Passenger
“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real. The events that cause them can never be forgotten, can they?”
— Cormac McCarthy / All the Pretty Horses
“Somebody has been fuckin my watermelons.”
— Cormac McCarthy / Suttree
“Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever … You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.”
— Cormac McCarthy / The Road
“Your god must once have stood at a dawn of infinite possibilities, and this is what he’s made of it. You tell me that I want God’s love? I don’t.”
— Cormac McCarthy / The Sunset Limited
“The point is there ain’t no point.”
— Cormac McCarthy / No Country for Old Men
“When all trace of our existence is gone, for whom then will this be a tragedy?”
— Cormac McCarthy / Stella Maris
What I’m Listening To:
“Now he sits all alone
And it’s no place like home
It’s empty skin
A bag to keep life’s souvenirs in”
— XTC / “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul”
The lotus-eaters adjourn — full of Dutchman’s breeches and fox gloves.
Floating.
Touring the recesses and regressing — shading the noncommittal lilacs.
A truffle kabuki in shadow play and detonation — a respectful lunch.
Fingertips asses — illuminating a marginalized yet vital mentality.
Softly.
Somnolent.
A drowsy stoop.
They sop the soporific up — an impossible dream awaits.
No feat of slumber skillet to thwart their sleep.
Doze.
What I’m Reading:
“Whatever exists, he said. Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.”
— Cormac McCarthy / Blood Meridian, or The Evening Redness in The West
the ineffable realized
/ in an infographic /
we’re baking ourselves to death
What I’m Reading:
“There’s no such thing as life without bloodshed … I think the notion that the species can be improved in some way, that everyone could live in harmony, is a really dangerous idea.”
— Cormac McCarthy to The New York Times, 1992
What I’m Reading:
“It takes very little to govern good people. Very little. And bad people cant be governed at all. Or if they could I never heard of it.”
— Cormac McCarthy / No Country for Old Men
cars ruin cities
i thank you for not driving
ride your bike instead
What I’m Reading:
“Cormac McCarthy, the formidable and reclusive writer of Appalachia and the American Southwest, whose raggedly ornate early novels about misfits and grotesques gave way to the lush taciturnity of ‘All the Pretty Horses’ and the apocalyptic minimalism of ‘The Road,’ died on Tuesday at his home in Santa Fe, N.M. He was 89.”
— The New York Times obituary
The churchgoers appear—pale
Replaced by joggers
Ghosts—drifting through public lives
What I’m Reading:
“I’m getting tired of not wearing underwear / and then again I like it / strolling along / feeling the wind blow softly on my genitals…”
— Frank O’Hara / “F. (Missive & Walk) I. 53”
“… the earth screeches, plates collapse,
the walls lose their grip on the paintings,
nothing is aligned like the planets we think we understand.”
— Antonella Anedda / “Historiae 2”
“I don’t know why
I keep forgetting the change in climate change. My grandmother
sighs as the sky darkens to the color of rum. Why I still think
that we’ll have names for all the things that will come.”
— Jacob Shores-Argüello / “The ‘Change’ In Climate Change”
“The beef industry in Brazil has consistently pledged to avoid farms linked to deforestation. However, the data suggests that 1.7m hectares (4.2m acres) of the Amazon was destroyed near meat plants exporting beef around the world.”
— Andrew Wasley, et al / “More than 800m Amazon trees felled in six years to meet beef demand” / The Guardian
“We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.”
— Aldo Leopold / A Sand County Almanac
“Unfortunately it has become too late to save Arctic summer sea ice … As scientists, we’ve been warning about the loss of Arctic summer sea ice for decades. This is now the first major component of the Earth system that we are going to lose because of global warming. People didn’t listen to our warnings.”
— Prof Dirk Notz, University of Hamburg / “Too late now to save Arctic summer ice, climate scientists find” / The Guardian
“The death of all things. The sun will eventually burn itself out, leaving nothing, but not as we know it. It’s difficult for my meagre, mediocre mind to grasp the fact that the land under this hot tub will, in a few billion years or so, be no more. Not just that it will be transformed into ocean or desert or glacier, or be populated by creatures I cannot even imagine, but that it will not even exist, gone without a trace of me or them or it.”
— Mark Boyle / The Way Home: Tales from a life without technology
“Within the shock announced this morning by the howling dogs
their muzzles pointing toward an imaginary swarm of bees
the floor slides toward the void. We, too,
run away in the wake of a memory of the species…”
— Antonella Anedda / “Historiae 2”
What I’m Listening To:
“With the stars all glinting in the shiny chrome
Then I suddenly remembered what I left at home
Now I shan’t be peddling any higher
‘Cos a sharp sputnik has given me a cosmic flat tyre”
— Dukes of the Stratosphear / “Bike Ride to the Moon”
Building fictions is an addiction not easily quenched. A need, psychological and physiological that renders one a hamster inside the wheel—no stopping until you’re ejected into the corner where all the soggy piss-chips accrue. Bring pleasant talk of men and women disrobing into their pustules and scales. I have needs carbuncular and crepuscular toward the end of the day. Fill me with honey black, induce the truce of Medusa, ‘cause I want to turn quartzite and brilliantine (a little dab might fuse you!). Chuff and huff until I’m diamond sharp and lenticular, see through me the shards that elude your third eye. I went cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs in my ninth year on this melting and acidifying death orb—endless amounts of psychobabble and psychotropics didn’t make a lick of difference. So salivate and join me while I play the soundtrack of my life for you: hiss, crackle, pop, skronk, white noise, metal machine whir, cacophonic bursts… SILENCE
What I’m Reading:
“When the tyrant’s voice comes on the car radio, I close my eyes in an effort to slow the rate at which hopelessness enters me. With this act, I hurl myself faster toward extinction.”
— Fanny Choi / “Time-Sensitive”
I seek nothing.
I am as light and free as a butterfly…
… After I climb out of the bottom of the psychic well.
What I’m Reading:
“… 3. Creative people combine playfulness and discipline, or responsibility and irresponsibility …
… 10. Creative people’s openness and sensitivity often exposes them to suffering and pain, yet also to a great deal of enjoyment.”
— Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi / “10 paradoxical traits of creative people”
thee istsfor manity reader 