The Latin Teacher Always Smelled Like Piss

Quotes, from Film, Music, and Literature.
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spirituous mists inhabit this place. Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky — Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly bong out their names. The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness - The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes. I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars Inside the church, the saints will all be blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence. 
Sylvia Plath  
The Moon And The Yew Tree

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spirituous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky —
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness -
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence.

Sylvia Plath 

The Moon And The Yew Tree

Everybody wants perspective from a hill but everybody’s wants can’t make it past the window sill I can see you in yourt room at night the pictures on your walls little forest scenes and high school halloweens but they don’t come to you they don’t come to you at all All houses dream in blueprints our house dreams so hard Outside you can see my shoeprints I’ve been dreaming in your yard One of these days these days will end Thru the kitchen window the light will bend You’ll be carving a pumpkin with a knife when someone at the table says “that’s not what I call a life!” The elephants are so ashamed of their size hosing down I tell them “you got pretty eyes” Out in the backyard I used to make like I was a cowboy I’d set my dog before a hoop and say “now boy, now boy!” When the governer’s heart fails the state bird falls from its branch Icicles on hell’s higher hills Meanwhile back home at the ranch I still get up early in the morning and I never knew a better place I believe the stars are the headlights of angels driving from heaven to save us to save us Won’t you look at the sky? They’re driving from heaven into our eyes and though final words are so hard to devise I promise that I’ll always remember your pretty eyes your pretty eyes

Silver Jews - Pretty Eyes
The Natural Bridge

Everybody wants perspective from a hill
but everybody’s wants can’t make it past the window sill
I can see you in yourt room at night
the pictures on your walls
little forest scenes and high school halloweens
but they don’t come to you
they don’t come to you at all

All houses dream in blueprints
our house dreams so hard
Outside you can see my shoeprints
I’ve been dreaming in your yard

One of these days these days will end
Thru the kitchen window the light will bend
You’ll be carving a pumpkin with a knife
when someone at the table says
“that’s not what I call a life!”

The elephants are so ashamed of their size
hosing down I tell them “you got pretty eyes”
Out in the backyard I used to make like I was a cowboy
I’d set my dog before a hoop and say “now boy, now boy!”

When the governer’s heart fails
the state bird falls from its branch
Icicles on hell’s higher hills
Meanwhile back home at the ranch
I still get up early in the morning
and I never knew a better place

I believe the stars are the headlights of angels
driving from heaven to save us
to save us
Won’t you look at the sky?
They’re driving from heaven into our eyes
and though final words are so hard to devise
I promise that I’ll always remember your pretty eyes
your pretty eyes

Silver Jews - Pretty Eyes

The Natural Bridge

"…. Late in the day, when the options are gone. When the seatbelt’s the only hug you’ve felt in weeks. When wrong numbers are the totality of your social life….”
- A Cowboy Overflow of the Heart
The Avalanches & David Berman

"…. Late in the day, when the options are gone.
When the seatbelt’s the only hug you’ve felt in weeks.
When wrong numbers are the totality of your social life….”

- A Cowboy Overflow of the Heart

The Avalanches & David Berman





" You never seem to be waiting for me, but we kept meeting at every turn of the paths. Behind every bush, at the foot of each statue, near every pond. It is as if it had been only you and I in all that garden.”

" You never seem to be waiting for me, but we kept meeting at every turn of the paths. Behind every bush, at the foot of each statue, near every pond. It is as if it had been only you and I in all that garden.”

"Gonzo journalism… is a style of reporting based on William Faulkner’s idea that the best fiction is far more true than any kind of journalism… Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is a failed experiment in Gonzo Journalism. My idea was to buy a fat notebook and record the whole thing, as it happened, then send in the note-book for publication—-without editing…”

"Gonzo journalism… is a style of reporting based on William Faulkner’s idea that the best fiction is far more true than any kind of journalism… Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is a failed experiment in Gonzo Journalism. My idea was to buy a fat notebook and record the whole thing, as it happened, then send in the note-book for publication—-without editing…”

"It is not a question of evoking, but of piercing the world. Suddenly a fundamental meaninglessness appears in the world. One is in the middle of a failed revolution in which the principal characters are involved, and one becomes aware that something much more serious is happening—namely, the world is not a sensible continuity that can be comprehensively explained, but a perpetual aspiration to sense, perpetually disappointed. It is human existence that has to create sense at every instant. Not to describe a sense that already exists, but to create a sense that doesn’t exist yet"

"It is not a question of evoking, but of piercing the world. Suddenly a fundamental meaninglessness appears in the world. One is in the middle of a failed revolution in which the principal characters are involved, and one becomes aware that something much more serious is happening—namely, the world is not a sensible continuity that can be comprehensively explained, but a perpetual aspiration to sense, perpetually disappointed. It is human existence that has to create sense at every instant. Not to describe a sense that already exists, but to create a sense that doesn’t exist yet"

" I am leaving in order to have peace and quiet, to be rid of the influence of civilization. I want only to do simple, very simple art, and to be able to do that, I have to immerse myself in virgin nature, see no one but savages, live their life, with no other thought in mind but to render, the way a child would, the concepts formed in my brain and to do this with the aid of nothing but the primitive means of art, the only means that are good and true. "

-Paul Gauguin 
The Writings of a Savage

" I am leaving in order to have peace and quiet, to be rid of the influence of civilization. I want only to do simple, very simple art, and to be able to do that, I have to immerse myself in virgin nature, see no one but savages, live their life, with no other thought in mind but to render, the way a child would, the concepts formed in my brain and to do this with the aid of nothing but the primitive means of art, the only means that are good and true. "

-Paul Gauguin

The Writings of a Savage

Morning: blue, cold, and still.
Eyes that have stared too long
Stare at the end of the frozen room
Where snow on a windowsill,
Packed and cold as a life,
Winters the sense of wrong
And emptiness and loss
That is my awakening.
A lifetime drains away
Down a path of Frost;
My face in the looking-glass
Turns again from the light
Toward fragments of the past
That break with the end of sleep.
This wakening, this breath
No longer real, this deep
Darkness where we toss,
Cover a life at the last.
Sleep is too short a death.
- Weldon Kees 1951

Morning: blue, cold, and still.

Eyes that have stared too long

Stare at the end of the frozen room

Where snow on a windowsill,

Packed and cold as a life,

Winters the sense of wrong

And emptiness and loss

That is my awakening.

A lifetime drains away

Down a path of Frost;

My face in the looking-glass

Turns again from the light

Toward fragments of the past

That break with the end of sleep.

This wakening, this breath

No longer real, this deep

Darkness where we toss,

Cover a life at the last.

Sleep is too short a death.

- Weldon Kees 1951

"I know of no writer whose vision is as inclusive, as all embracing as Whitman’s . It is precisely this cosmic view of things which has prevented Whitman’s message from being accepted. He is all affirmation. He is completely outgoing. He recognizes no barriers of any kind, not even evil. "

Henry Miller on Walt Whitman

" If the west does not start a nuclear war first the monetary system will fall apart through the inexorable consumption by the machine of life art flavor beauty to make more and more shit which buys less and less life art flavor beauty because there is less and less to buy. The machine is eating it all. The time must come when money will buy nothing because there will be nothing left for money to buy . Money will eliminate itself."

" If the west does not start a nuclear war first the monetary system will fall apart through the inexorable consumption by the machine of life art flavor beauty to make more and more shit which buys less and less life art flavor beauty because there is less and less to buy. The machine is eating it all. The time must come when money will buy nothing because there will be nothing left for money to buy . Money will eliminate itself."