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The search for truth is more precious than its possession.



Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it's all over much too soon.





The force of character is cumulative.





A thing moderately good is not so good as it ought to be. Moderation in temper is always a virtue, but moderation in principle is always a vice.


"Here we have two writers whose novels describe the lives of the ‘meek victim.’ Hamsun, in his amazing book “Hunger,” follows the path of his unheroic ‘hero’ – a vagabond who cannot feed himself, and so is driven mad by hunger. This inspired Kafka to write a couple brilliant novels: “The Trial,” in which the protagonist is the victim of a veiled legal system stronger than himself; and, “The Castle,” in which the ‘hero’ is pushed like feeble plankton around in a society that is stronger than himself and malevolent towards his ambiguous interests. What follows Hamsun’s and Kafka’s examples are years of Modernist oeuvres that explore the condition of victimhood."

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Prophet Samuel

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You Bet Your Sweet Patootie!

Hair

"She asks me why
I'm just a hairy guy
I'm hairy noon and night
Hair that's a fright
I'm hairy high and low
Don't ask me why
Don't know
It's not for lack of break
Like the Grateful Dead
Darling

Gimme head with hair
Long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming,
Streaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there hair
Shoulder length or longer
Here baby, there mama
Everywhere daddy daddy

Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair

Let it fly in the breeze
And get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas in my hair
A home for fleas
A hive for bees
A nest for birds
There ain't no words
For the beauty, the splendor, the wonder
Of my...

Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair

I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy
Snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty
Oily, greasy, fleecy
Shining, gleaming, streaming
Flaxen, waxen
Knotted, polka-dotted
Twisted, beaded, braided
Powdered, flowered, and confettied
Bangled, tangled, spangled, and spaghettied!

Oh say can you see
My eyes if you can
Then my hair's too short

Down to here
Down to there
Down to where
It stops by itself

They'll be ga ga at the go go
When they see me in my toga
My toga made of blond
Brilliantined
Biblical hair

My hair like Jesus wore it
Hallelujah I adore it
Hallelujah Mary loved her son
Why don't my mother love me?

Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair"

..once again...

Well, another relationship officially down the fucking tubes. It's like everything I touch turns to shit. It tears me up that there's one more person - that I love - to add to the list of those I've hurt. Being empathic can be such a burden at times.



"Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.

One evening I took Beauty in my arms - and I thought her bitter - and I insulted her.

I steeled myself against justice.

I fled. O witches, O misery, O hate, my treasure was left in your care. I have withered within me all hope. With a silent leap of a sullen beast I downed and strangled every joy.

I have called for executioners; I want to perish chewing on their gun butts. I have called for plagues, to suffocate in sand and
blood. I have laid down in the mud, and dried myself off in the crime-infested air. I have played the fool to the point of madness...." -from 'Once if my Memory Serves me Well...' by Arthur Rimbaud

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